


Badlands

by Guede



Series: Edge [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Chains, Dubious Consent, Dubious Morality, Dysfunctional Family, Episode: s01e20 Dead Man's Blood, Frottage, Guilt, Hostage Situations, Incest, M/M, Menstruation, Mind Games, Minor Character Death, Oral Sex, Sam Winchester's Demonic Powers, The Colt (Supernatural), Torture, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 09:55:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 32,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27848922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guede/pseuds/Guede
Summary: Desperate times call for desperate alliances. But who exactly is working who?
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Kate/Luther (Supernatural: Dead Man's Blood), Luther (Supernatural: Dead Man's Blood)/Dean Winchester, Luther (Supernatural: Dead Man's Blood)/Sam Winchester
Series: Edge [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2036881
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	1. Dead Man Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written and posted to LiveJournal in 2006.

Something jostled up against the table, rattling the notebook that lay in front of Sam and nearly knocking his beer over it. He absently grabbed the bottle, then reached out and smacked. Dean’s shoulder was right where he thought it’d be. “Watch it. Man, it’s a wonder Dad’s notebook ever survived this long.”

“Excuse me? You were the one that almost dropped it in the toilet this morning.” Dean slid into the other side of the booth, his boots kicking up against Sam’s legs. He let his head fall back against the seat and sighed, stretching. “You sure about this? We could keep going back east, maybe even to New York…you could see Sarah. You really gave her a cold shoulder when we left—”

“Dean. Stop.” Sam tightened his fingers around his bottle, pretending he was wringing a certain neck. Then he said to hell with it and just took a swig.

He was sorry for that a few minutes later when he felt the full buzz coming on. The local beer out here packed a hell of a wallop, and he needed to be sober for the meeting with Elkins later. It was bad enough that Elkins had ranted and raved like his and Dad’s parting had been a bad high-school break-up before he’d agreed to it—he was going to be in a shitty mood, and Sam would have to be extra-careful about explaining the situation in a way that didn’t give away the fact that Dean happened to be the vampire under discussion.

“Sorry.” And Dean did sound sorry. Enough so that Sam looked up to catch his brother with a pensive expression on his face. A second later, it began to change, but Dean glanced away before Sam could feel more than a hint of strange, magnetic warmth. “It’s just…you really did like her, didn’t you?”

“She was…nice. But with our lifestyle, and your problem…” Shaking his head, Sam pushed his beer over and took another bite of his sandwich. He hadn’t eaten in nearly seven hours and he really needed to since Dean was due to feed tonight. “Why the hell are you pushing it, anyway? You know that till we get it fixed, I’ve got to stay with you. I can’t go off with Sarah.”

* * *

Sam had a point there, but Dean’s point—and God, did he wish Sam would just get it and not force him to explain it—was that Sam needed something besides Dean to occupy his mind. The “problem” was a big, godawful mess and incredibly unhealthy. Never mind Dean, because if _Sam_ wanted to get out of this with his mind in one piece—and still thinking the right kinds of thoughts—then he needed some more grounding influences in his life.

Sometimes when the curl of hunger was tight in his belly and he couldn’t even look at Sam without wanting that hot sweet pulse in his mouth, Dean almost wished he’d just left Sam a phone message or something. Or not even that. Maybe he just should’ve left Sam at college and gone after Dad by himself.

“Caleb couldn’t tell me too much about this Elkins guy except that he’s an expert on vampires. He only met him once, and only for a couple minutes. Are you sure Dad didn’t ever mention him?” Sam was asking.

Dean blinked, then jerked to attention. He’d drifted off right there, and oddly enough, it hadn’t had anything to do with wanting to shove Sam up against a wall and hating himself for it. Something else was nagging at him. “Nope. But nobody that wasn’t important ever got their number in Dad’s notebook.”

They’d done enough jobs since Dean’s…accident…so that he had to admit he picked up more as a vampire than he ever had as a human. He hated it, but he knew better than to reject a useful advantage just on principle. As much as Sam wanted to think otherwise, principle didn’t keep them alive.

“Nothing at all? This isn’t like with the shtriga, where you—”

“No, Sam, I’m really telling the truth. Dad never said a damned thing,” Dean snapped. He irritably knocked back a good long pull of beer, then put the bottle down on the table hard enough to get a weird look from Sam. Well, Sam could look all he wanted since he’d been the one to remind Dean about the other major mistake he’d made concerning his brother’s well-being. “I still think we should have texted Dad back. Left him some kind of explanation. What if Elkins mentions we’re up here and Dad shows?”

Speaking of looking, Dean did some of that both because that nagging feeling was getting worse and because he didn’t want to look at Sam’s face right now. He scanned the room once and was on his way back when he paused. In the backroom, a guy that looked as if he’d just rolled out of a Harley-Davidson convention was leaning over a pool table. The pile of cash by his elbow was pretty damn big, but he wasn’t looking at it. He was looking at—

“Pinging? Man, did Dad get the part about vampires wrong,” Sam said in a low voice. He had out his phone and was flipping numbers or something. Playing tetris for all Dean knew.

“That’s going to be the first thing out of your mouth whenever we do see him again, isn’t it?” Dean picked up his bottle and gave it a shake, estimating the remaining volume. He casually slung his arm over the back of his seat and put the bottle to his mouth, then slowly tipped it back. There was just enough beer left for one long swallow, which should’ve flashed lots of throat.

That got him eyes narrowed at the side of his neck, so yeah, monster. Then the man-- _vampire_ \--gave them a crooked smile and lazily took his shot. Last one of the night, to judge by the way the men around him were groaning and the blonde girl Dean would’ve been eying if it’d been a few months ago was simpering at him. Great.

“Well, Elkins is supposed to be a vampire hunter. Guess it’s only natural that they’d be where he is. You want to take care of him before we go?” Sam flipped his phone shut, then cracked his wrist. He closed up Dad’s notebook and slid it into his bag, letting Dean get a glint of steel along the way.

“‘We come bearing gifts’? I guess that’s one way to get a cranky old man on your side.” Dean carefully set his bottle on the table so the neck was caged within his fingers. He gave it a quick flick with the side of his thumb and watched it spin. “He doesn’t smell like the other one—the one that did this to me. It’s a little off.”

A couple bites of sandwich were still left on Sam’s plate. He glanced at it, then began to shove away the plate. He stopped at Dean’s look, started to get annoyed, and then gave up and ate it. Good boy; he’d need the extra nutrition for all the blood Dean would have to take later…God, Dean hoped Elkins would have something helpful. He and Sam had an arrangement worked out, but worked out sure as hell didn’t mean that Dean wasn’t waking up with a sick feeling every mor-evening.

“He’s not the same. Maybe that’s what Dad meant—all the vampires of one kind are extinct. But there’s more than one kind. Even the shtriga’s considered a vampire by some authorities.” Sam ran a napkin over his hands, turning his wrists this way and that. The blue veins in their undersides throbbed out at Dean, only to be replaced with a scabby bite as Sam’s sleeve pulled back.

The sick feeling never actually went away. It was just that Dean had to get used to it over the course of the day in order to get anything done, and then every time he woke up, it hit him like it was the first time. He turned around and glanced over his shoulder just in time to see the vamp giving the blonde a smack on the mouth, rubbing his wad of cash against her cheek. Behind him, a group of bad sports were all whispering to each other. They cleared up when he turned around, but death-glared his back all the way to the back-door.

The vamp slid a look to the side that had Dean raising his eyebrows. Then the door shut on him—he’d probably excused himself to take a piss. In another couple of minutes, those idiot drunks were going to stop thumping their pool sticks against their palms and go out to do something and end up dead.

“So were you just teasing him for the hell of it, or are we going?” Sam said, giving a slight cough.

Dean transferred his raised eyebrows to him. “Got a cold, Sam?”

“No, I’m good. I’m…” Sam frowned and suddenly glanced at the front door. “…we’d better hurry up. Elkins said not to be late, and I’ve got a feeling he would time us down to the second.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Dean muttered, watching the men pile out of the backdoor. He rustled up a few dollars for the tip and threw it on the table. “Bring the car around. You can hop in on whatever I’ve got going, and then we don’t have to worry about running back through the parking lot lights before we can hit the road.”

* * *

When Dean slipped out the back-door, the first thing he heard was some aging lumberjack slurring, “You goddamn no good cheatin’—”

The second thing he heard was a sickening pop and a loud rattle of wood. The garbage was piled up beside the door so he couldn’t see what was going on. That wasn’t exactly a great position to get in on a fight, so Dean reached up and grabbed the gutter. A second later, he was up on the roof and looking down on one vamp amusedly trashing five men. “Hey!”

The vamp lowered his hand, which was clamped onto the neck of one whimpering man, and looked up. He wasn’t so amused now as…puzzled and intensely interested. “Hey yourself.”

“So is this what you do out here? Get drunk, piss off the locals…leave a mass slaughter scene in the morning?” Dean settled himself in a squat on the edge of the roof with his hands hooked into his belt-loops. When he was sure the vamp was paying attention to him, he started moving his left back towards his gun.

“Only the young and stupid would leave that kind of trail,” the vamp said. He tilted his head, then slowly opened his hand so the man dropped. Cracked his skull so hard that Dean almost…but then the man moved. “Where are you from? How old are you?”

The guy nearest the door was crawling away and the vamp definitely noticed, but didn’t seem to care too much. Some of the others were getting towards mobile as well, but Dean didn’t consider them home free yet. He could lunge ten yards easy in one second, and he wasn’t getting the impression that this vamp could be safely underestimated. “First you insult me and then you grill me. I have to say, I don’t think much of the hospitality in this area.”

“Well, it’s a tough place to make a living. And I don’t know you.” Now the vamp was getting edgy about something…maybe there was some secret handshake that Dean didn’t know about. He kept staring at Dean like Dean was some kind of sideshow exhibit.

Actually, that was true, and that pissed Dean off. His fingers touched the butt of his gun. He looked around—the last man was dragging himself, moaning and whining, through the bar’s back-door. “I don’t know you either. Guess that makes us even.”

Right then, an engine roared up and the Impala whipped around the corner, then screeched to a stop. Dean winced; perfect timing, but he was going to have to talk to Sam about treating the transmission more nicely.

The vamp spun around, but he must’ve noticed something because he’d turned back and was a good way across the alley when Dean fired the first shot. It rocked him back a step and Dean just kept firing, unloading the whole clip into him. Chest, shoulder, shoulder, thigh, thigh. He wasn’t sure if bullets were fatal, but at the very least, they should shatter enough parts to put the bastard down.

Yeah, that would be commonsense. Incredibly enough, the vamp threw himself sideways, then staggered at a near run out of the alley. He stumbled, then whirled about to throw himself against the front of the Impala.

“Get the hell away from there!” Dean shouted, scrambling down. He flipped the gun around and had it up and ready to smash into the son of a bitch’s face when he got faked out. Something slammed hard into his gut, then barreled him over.

Instinct made Dean jerk his head aside. He felt hot breath breeze past his neck and heard teeth sharply clack right next to his ear. His gun-arm was twisted back to the pavement, but he still could move his legs pretty well and he got his feet braced, then shoved up. As soon as some space opened up, he got his hands under the vamp and pushed hard; warm wet stuff slicked over his fingers.

A fist clipped the side of his shoulder, sending him off-balance just enough to knock him back on his elbows. He immediately slammed himself upwards, but the vamp had had too much time and knocked him back, snarling open-mouthed. Way more fangs than Dean had, Dean absently noticed. He jerked up one knee, hit something that really hit the bastard, and flung himself out, rolling as he went.

His feet rammed up against something just as a gun was cocked. Dean rolled back—he’d hit Sam in the legs—and saw the vamp freeze, eyes fixed at a point somewhere above Dean. Blood was all over him, turning his jeans black in dim light, and more was turning sticky on Dean’s hands and chest.

Sam fired. The rifle-shot hit the vamp in mid-turn so it went through his shoulder instead of his neck, but he only staggered a little bit before he kept on running. “Shit!”

“Come on, get in the—” The rest of Dean’s words were cut off by the leaping growl of an engine. He grabbed the side of the Impala and yanked himself up so hard he nearly hurled himself over the car. It didn’t do any good anyway—all he saw was the taillights fishtailing onto the main road. “Fuck. Some of those were silver, too. Didn’t slow him down at all.”

“Get in the car,” Sam hissed, grabbing Dean by the arm. “Come on!”

Sounds of panicked shouting from the bar began to filter into Dean’s consciousness. He cursed again and pushed Sam into the car, then slammed the door shut and jerked the key around in the ignition.

* * *

They lost the vampire on the backroads, which left Dean in a hell of a temper by the time he finally agreed to just head for Elkins’ place. “Jesus Christ. I still have that son of a bitch’s blood all over me. How the hell am I going to explain that?”

“I thought you were waiting in the car anyway, since we don’t know if Elkins has some way to detect vampires on sight,” Sam said. He seemed somewhat less worried about the fact that they’d let a monster get away. “Hey—so is vampire blood—”

“You’d better not be asking me if I could’ve snacked on him. It wouldn’t be his blood anyway. It’d belong to some person he killed,” Dean snapped. A lumpy tree trunk reared up out of nowhere and he swung the Impala hard around to avoid it, then had to swing back almost immediately to avoid a half-rotten stump. Elkins had one bitch of a driveway.

Sam lifted his hand, then abruptly dropped it and leaned his head against the window. He exhaled loudly, irritably. “I’m just trying to find some way around this so it’s easier for you.”

Yeah. And deep down, Dean did appreciate the effort, but that effort was so bound up in what they had to do to survive, and how goddamn wrong and twisted that was, that his appreciation just tasted like shit in his mouth. He swallowed hard and eased the car around the last turn.

“We’ll pick him up later. Or he’ll come to us—I don’t think he’d let that kind of thing go,” Sam muttered. He leaned forward as the house came into view, frowning. “No lights.”

Dean snapped off the headlights. The dark fell around them like a weighted net, all rasping branches and angular, flittering shadows. Up ahead, the house slumped on the edge of a ravine like a beast run to ground. That metaphor didn’t entirely make sense till Dean stuffed down his anger and actually looked at the place. The front door was slightly open and all the windows were dark. It was also snowing lightly, and at one spot of the roof, the white flakes weren’t building up as they should have, but instead appeared to be falling straight through.

He cracked open his window and sniffed. “No one’s alive in there. But…”

“The other old way to kill a vampire’s to cut off its head. Did you sharpen the machetes?” Sam asked.

“Yeah, _Mom_.” The trace Dean could pick up wasn’t nearly strong enough for a solid identification, and it was already annoying him. He reached under the seat, pulled the lever for the trunk, and then got out. “I’m going in first.”

Sam got out as well and almost slammed the door before his brains caught up with him. Instead he settled for glowering at Dean over the car.

Dean let him get the machetes while he locked up. “Don’t do that, Sam. I see better in the dark than you. If things are fucked up in there, I can move around without stepping on any clues.”

“Like I’ve ever stepped on any clues,” Sam snarled beneath his breath. “You’re just hoping that vampire’s up there waiting for us.”

To be honest—yeah, part of Dean was, because he hadn’t been done when that son of a bitch had run off. But another part was hoping he was just smelling Elkins’ work, because the last thing they needed was another set-back. The last one was still eating at Sam, giving him nightmares again.

By the time they were at the front door, Dean couldn’t pretend to be optimistic anymore. “It’s not him, but they smell like him.”

“They?” Sam whispered.

Nodding, Dean poked open the door with the tip of the machete. He didn’t see or hear anything, and his gut was telling him that nobody period was home. Then Sam nudged him on the arm and pointed towards a cluster of jagged light patches: glass reflecting what little light there was. It was spilling out of a room pretty far in the back, so Dean motioned with his head to signal that they should go in through that side of the house.

Elkins, or what was left of him, wasn’t pretty. Sam needed a couple seconds to go back outside and get some fresh air; Dean carefully averted his eyes and checked out the rest of the room. He found an old notebook bound in cracked leather that reminded him a lot of Dad’s. It’d somehow missed getting splattered, so he folded it up and stuck it under his arm. “Shit. Shit, shit, shit.”

“Dean.” Sam had come back in and picked up some wooden box. He was turning it around and around in his hands, his fingers moving oddly slow over its grain. The expression on his face was intrigued in a way that slightly raised Dean’s hackles.

“What’s that?” Dean took the box a little roughly from Sam, which got him a weird look, but he couldn’t have cared less. The last time Sam had started getting that way, it’d been when they’d tried the spell to reverse Dean’s vampirism and instead had—“I didn’t see any kind of gun anywhere.”

“Maybe they took it,” Sam said. He was still staring into the box, brow furrowed. After a moment, he absently lifted his hand to rub at his temple. A slight wince crossed his face.

Time to shut the box. The hinges were stiff and Dean had to put some real force into it, but then the two parts abruptly snapped together, nearly catching his finger. He tucked that under his arm as well and took a long, deep breath. Then he stepped out onto the back porch and smelled again. “I think we might be able to follow them. They weren’t all that concerned about keeping _their_ trail cold.”

“Huh?” Sam came out of the doorway, then carefully pulled the door with his foot till it was about at the same angle at which it’d been when they’d entered. He wandered over so that Dean could feel the heat coming off his arm. He still couldn’t remember not to stand so close. “Why would they take a gun? If they’re like the other one, then those don’t work on them.”

“Well, let’s ask them,” Dean muttered, stalking off. He stopped once to kick the hell out of a tree stump. He didn’t get any weird looks from Sam on that one, probably because Sam was busy trying not to look completely frustrated and pissed off. So much for hoping Elkins had a solution.

Those goddamn vampires had better last longer than five minutes, was all Dean was hoping now.

* * *

The trail was fairly straightforward once it hit the road, but it was long and they ended up arriving just at the break of dawn. They would’ve shown up sooner if Sam hadn’t insisted on taking the wheel the first time Dean yawned. All right, he got really sleepy during the day now, but that didn’t mean he was going to drop off any moment. He did have some say in that, at least.

The road curved sharply around a steep hill, but the trail went up, so they parked the car and started hiking. They hadn’t gone more than a few steps when the wind changed and Dean got a good whiff. He stopped, then grabbed Sam by the sleeve. “Something’s burning.”

“Burning…oh. Oh, yeah, I smell it now…” Sam stared up the hillside, uneasily shifting his weight from foot to foot. He winced and pinched the bridge of his nose, then turned aside. “Oh, God. What is that?”

“It’s like when you torched Meg’s body,” Dean muttered. He let go of Sam and started walking again, glad that he’d ended up taking both his gun and a machete. The smell of the vampires was here, and strong—they’d been in the area awhile—but overlaid with that was something that set his teeth on edge.

By the time they crested the hill, both of them had one sleeve pulled over their noses. They still were being cautious at that point, on the off-chance that the vampires had any kind of border alarms, but nothing was triggered. And when they looked down, it was pretty clear that the bloodsucking sons of bitches had their hands way too full to be worrying about anyone else.

It’d been a barn once, maybe. Enough of the walls and roof were left to give the size and the general shape of it, but all the wood was charred black, and there were huge splintered holes in the sides as if something had exploded outwards. Some charred hulks humped up at one end proved upon second look to be cars. Curiously enough, nothing was actually on fire.

“You smelled something when Meg died?” Sam abruptly said, his voice low and tight. He was staring straight ahead, occasionally working his jaw, but he wasn’t looking at some vamp’s nest getting its comeuppance.

“You were pretty out of it then, but yeah. I did. It’s all over here.” Dean hefted his machete and got hold of a tree trunk, then started easing his way down the slope. “You think—”

Sam startled out of his reverie, then shrugged. His mouth twisted in a grimace of a smile. “Well, if it is her again, then I have to admit I’m impressed. Decapitation and cremation, and she’s still going.”

“No, it’s not _her_. It’s not identical. I was going to ask if these vamps are working for the demon, too,” Dean said. He hopped the last few feet, then scanned the surrounding area. Nothing he could see, hear, smell or otherwise sense, so he figured it was okay to check out the barn.

“How would I be able to tell that?” Sam snapped. He drifted off a few feet from Dean and poked at the grass with his foot, then turned around to look at the car wrecks. A puzzled look went over his face. “One’s missing. It came in, and stopped…here, and then…”

Dean was already inside. The ground was covered in splinters of charcoal and crunched wherever he stepped, so he didn’t make any attempt at covering up his approach. He just held his machete out to the side and wished somebody would oblige him.

Nobody did, though. He worked his way through most of the main living area and found nothing but charred corpses, all smelling like vampire. They didn’t even hold up to a good kick, but instead disintegrated at the slightest touch. The whole place stank of spilled blood and fear and rage, which helped fight off his sleepiness, but sure as hell didn’t help his temper.

Then he found the cages, and he really wanted to kill something. “Goddamn fucking son of a _bitch_.”

“Dean?” Sam walked up. He glanced inside, went pale, and walked back a few feet so he could lean against the remains of a support. He didn’t throw up, but he made a couple tries at it. “They…burned them alive. Christ.”

“No, not the vamps, though God, do I wish I could blame it on them,” Dean muttered. He stepped back and looked down, shuffling around the dirt to stir up the smell. Lots of urine, blood, and he really wanted to just rip down the bars, but it was too late for that. “Whoever it was stood here. Then they…went this way.”

He followed the trace out through the living area and into the back portion of the barn, which apparently had been divided up into individual sleeping areas. Right then someone screamed, hoarse and high; Dean froze in place.

“Oh, my God—” Sam started, lunging forward.

Dean yanked him back and shoved his hand down on the machete hooked in his belt. “No. There’s no one human back there.”

“But then who…”

“Our friend from the bar,” Dean hissed. He dropped Sam’s hand and raised his own machete, cautiously easing forward. It sounded like the bastard wasn’t in any condition to fight back, but Dean wasn’t about to trust a monster. Anyway, God knew what else could be around.

He slowly rounded the corner, then quickly turned his back to the wall—what was left of it—and looked around.

Dried blood rusted the walls and floors. Pieces of a mattress had been piled up against the far wall to clear out a space for a circle, on which edge Dean was nearly stepping. He backed up a little and ended up looking straight into the eyes of the man in the circle.

Vampire. The vampire was lying half-curled in it, stripped down to ragged and stained jeans. He still had one bullet hole in his shoulder, but that wasn’t what was making him scream. Huge patches of him had had the skin taken off in some way—they looked like a half-done steak. Though as Dean watched, the skin sluggishly began to come back.

“You.” The vampire struggled to sit up. He got onto his elbows before he ran out of steam. “You distracted me. You kept me busy so they could come and kill my entire _family_ and take Kate—”

“Excuse me? I don’t know what you’re talking about, but you deserve it for killing Daniel Elkins. He looked like someone had taken a chainsaw to him,” Dean snapped. Finally, something he could chop.

Except Sam was grabbing his arm and yanking it back. “Wait. Don’t get into that circle yet.”

“Why the hell not?” Dean snarled.

Sam wasn’t listening, because Sam was now on his hands and knees and staring at the circle. It actually was two circles nested within each other, with a whole bunch of weird symbols written between them. The last time they’d messed with that kind of deal, Sam had nearly pulled a Darth Vader.

“Elkins?” the vamp said, frowning. Then he figured it out—whatever the hell ‘it’ was—and swore violently.

At the same time, Sam did some kind of twist with his fingers and suddenly the whole inside of the circle flamed up ten feet. It came damn close to setting Dean’s face on fire; he scrambled back to the sound of horrific screaming.

The fire went down as abruptly as it’d come, and in the center was…Dean closed his eyes, slow-counted to ten, and tried not to think about this being the explanation for the smell. He glanced over at Sam, who was looking ill again. Then he checked on the vampire: enough skin was back for Dean to be able to look at him without thinking slaughterhouse, but it still looked bad. And if he wasn’t mistaken, the skin was coming back slower this time.

“Sorry,” Sam muttered. He edged forward again, eying the symbols. “These feel…familiar.”

“Sam, get away from those. And don’t apologize to the son of a bitch,” Dean muttered.

“Luther,” the vampire said. He coughed hard. His shoulders jerked up and down as he spat out a crispy piece of something. “My name. So you aren’t with the others?”

Dean stared hard at…at Luther, who looked remarkably together for somebody that’d apparently been barbecued multiple times in the past few hours. That meant he had some kind of agenda coming together in his head, and he was about to lay it on them. “Others?”

“I was away for a few days, and they made some kind of deal with my family, something to do with Elkins. I came back just as Kate was giving them what they wanted, and then they…” Luther glanced meaningfully around, his jaw clenching. He did a pretty damn good job of looking vengeful. “Are you looking for them?”

“What difference does it make to you?” Dean asked. He slipped a glance at Sam, who shrugged. Yeah, it sounded like the gun might be a little more important than they’d thought, but that did not mean they had to put up with any more darkness than they already had.

“Kate is my—my mate. They took her with them. I can find her a lot faster than you could by just tracking their smell,” Luther said. He looked at Sam, smoothing his face into harmless and pleading. “And I know what they took and why they want it. Let me out and I can help you.”


	2. Cross-Purposes

“He’s got something up his sleeve,” Dean hissed, glancing over his shoulder.

Nearly all of Luther’s skin had come back, which was making him edgy; the circle probably was timed to go just when he’d almost completely healed up. He moved restlessly around the circle, staring at the symbols…though that didn’t preoccupy him enough for him to not sneak a few looks Dean and Sam’s way. Considering everything on his plate, he was way too calm and collected for Dean.

“He wants to not get tortured to death and to get out so he can get his girlfriend back. Of course he’s got something up his sleeve. But that doesn’t mean that he can’t be useful,” Sam hissed back. He looked away in irritation, then back at Dean. “I think I can open up that circle.”

“Okay, aside from the fact that every time you pull a stunt like that, you get damned close to turning into Meg, have you thought about the fact that this might be a trap? Why would they leave him alive, if they’d already gotten what they wanted? Maybe he’s supposed to lead us off on some false trail.” Dean caught himself tapping his machete against the ground and yanked it up before he blunted the tip. A small rattling above him made him look up, then jerk aside as part of the roof came down.

Sunlight hit his face before he could step back and an uncomfortable prickling crawled around beneath his skin. His jaw was dropping in a huge yawn before he could help it and he snapped his mouth shut, then moved back into the room. Luther had glanced up, eyes flicking towards the sunbeam, but when Dean fully turned around, he was looking steadily at Sam.

“Or maybe I’ve run into them before, and they didn’t like the kind of hospitality I gave them last time.” The expression on Luther’s face was so calculated to inspire trust that Dean nearly gagged. “Kate hadn’t been born then, so she didn’t know when they contacted her.”

“Aw. That story really hurts, man,” Dean muttered.

Sam suppressed some kind of annoyed noise and just yanked Dean back around the corner, to the side of the sunlight. “Dean, I know he’s a monster. But if you want to talk about not going down to their level—then he’s coming out of that circle one way or another. Even if it’s just so you can whack off his head right afterwards.”

For a couple of moments, Dean did his damnedest to come up with a good objection. Then his thinking was interrupted by about five seconds of hideous screaming; he jumped and knocked his elbow against the wall. He grabbed onto a plank and righted himself, then looked up to see all the blood draining from Sam’s face as Sam stared over Dean’s shoulder. The oily, rancid, burnt stench got exponentially worse.

All right, Sam had a point. But that didn’t mean Dean was ready to swallow it yet, and it wasn’t just because his hatred of monsters had gotten a lot stronger since he’d been forced to have the first-hand experience. If Sam broke that circle and it sent him into another tailspin, Dean didn’t know what he’d do.

“Please,” croaked a voice from behind Dean. “The pistol they took—”

“Pistol?” Dean turned around. He was tempted to turn right back, but forced himself to look. He did let himself glance at Sam, who choked down his revulsion long enough to shoot a ‘see-it’s-not-a-bad-idea’ look back at Dean.

Of course it wasn’t a bad idea. Which was why Luther was acting like he was too weak to finish his sentence and wasn’t adding anymore. Manipulative son of a bitch.

Dean stabbed the heel of his foot into the ground, scraping up a deep pit. A yawn, of all things, was creeping up on him and he bit his lip to keep it down. Then he snarled and took a step back, lifting the machete. “Sam. If this doesn’t go right, you know I’m never letting it go, right?”

If it didn’t go right, then who’d won the argument would be a moot point. But Sam obligingly made a face and pretended it was just another disagreement on attack plans. “It’ll just take a second. You see anything I can use for—never mind, stick should work…”

Luther might’ve been down, but he was far from unaware. He watched very closely as Sam got down on hands and knees and started poking at the outer circle with a piece of charcoal, occasionally making marks. Eventually his eyes drifted upward so Dean could meaningfully flip the machete around in his hand. The point hit home—Luther flinched a little—but it still seemed like he was anticipating everything. And that not only got on Dean’s nerves, but also on his fears.

“Count of three,” Sam suddenly said. He didn’t sound like he was all there, and when Dean checked on him, his eyes were a bit unfocused.

If something happened…Dean could easily knock Sam out from where he was standing. But what he’d do afterward—he didn’t think turnabout would work. Chains wouldn’t last long enough for Dean to figure out how to get Sam back from wherever he went when that…other thing was looking out from his eyes.

“Three.” Sam flicked his fingers over the ground so the stick he was holding whipped across both circles, cutting the chalk-dust lines.

A blue-white corona flared up around the circle. Dean instantly dropped and grabbed Sam, hauling him out of the way just as a full-on fire replaced the corona. The flames went out a second later, and something made Dean whip up the machete: no screaming.

After a couple blinks, Dean’s sight got rid of enough bright spots for him to see Luther frozen in a half-upright position. A little trickle of blood ran down his neck from where the blade tip was pressing into his skin—that was all pretty much back, though it was very white and papery-looking. If that meant the same thing with him as it did with Dean, then he wouldn’t be able to do much till he got the opportunity for a good feed.

Luther slowly raised his hands. “I help you, you help me. I give you my word.”

“No, you help us and we don’t chop you yet,” Dean said. He concentrated hard on not staring at the blood. Goddamn it—he did need to eat soon. “Right. Up. Nice and slow.”

* * *

Maybe it made practical sense, since none of their stuff would fit him and they were going to have enough of a problem hauling around a vampire without having him look like a refugee into the bargain, but it still ate at Dean’s sense of how the world should be. That sure as hell didn’t include having to shove his gear around to make room for Luther’s clothes. “We can’t leave him in the room.”

Sam was standing in the doorway to their motel room, keeping one eye on Luther and another out for the bags Dean was tossing him. “I think the cleaning staff might have something to say about the chains.”

“I’m not doing—that—to you in front of him,” Dean added. He pulled up a couple boxes of ammunition, then changed his mind and shoved them back. After closing the trunk, he stopped by the driver’s side to lock up. It took him thirty seconds longer to do that than usual, thanks to the hunger jitters.

“So then what? Because—” Something inside the room got Sam’s attention and he glanced inside. He took his time about turning back. “Dean. You have to sooner or later.”

“I _know_.” Much as Dean hated it, it’d be even less safe for Sam if they tried to let it go for another night. And since the chains were already occupied, that wasn’t an option either.

He tossed the keys to Sam as he walked into the room. The sleepiness was really starting to get to him, and not just because it was daylight, either. Actually, it was late afternoon and normally he’d be starting to get restless, but he’d been without sleep for the better part of two days now. Considering what he had to do to survive, he should’ve at least gotten some help with that, but didn’t it just figure.

Luther was sitting on the bed. The bathroom hadn’t had any useful exposed plumbing, and Dean wasn’t about to put much stock in the strength of motel furniture, so they’d just chained Luther’s ankles and wrists. The manacles were bothering Luther enough for him to be trying to rotate them every so often, but they weren’t leaving rashes or bruising—then again, Dean should’ve known steel or iron wasn’t a big deal from shooting the bastard earlier.

Sam rummaged around in one of the bags, then came up with the box they’d taken from Elkins’ home. It didn’t seem like a good idea to Dean to be giving away that much already, but he wasn’t able to get his say in before Sam opened his mouth. “So that pistol you were talking about. Was it in this?”

Dean closed the door, then moved so he was between Sam and the rest of the room. He took a seat in one of the two chairs and started checking the loading on their shotguns. “If his story is true, then he wasn’t there when Elkins bit it, so how would he know?”

“No, but can I see that for a second?” Luther said, holding out his hands.

At least Sam didn’t even start to move towards the son of a bitch. He hesitated, then tossed it to Luther, who cracked open the box and held it up to his nose for a deep whiff.

If Sam didn’t expect eye-rolling from Dean at that, then he clearly hadn’t been paying attention the last couple hundred miles. “Sense of smell can’t be that bad.”

“I’m not smelling for Elkins, or anyone that’s alive today.” Done with his dramatics, Luther set the box on the bed. He slid it a couple of feet away, then abruptly flipped it over. His eyes flicked up to Dean, who’d tensed up at the movement, and if that glint in his eye had lasted a little bit longer, Dean would’ve set about seeing if one could decapitate via multiple shotgun blasts. “See this on the bottom?”

That side of the box had a symbol roughly engraved into it; Dean had felt it when they’d first found the box, but hadn’t had time to look closely at it. Now that he was, he could see it was a star enclosed in a circle, like one of those old-fashioned sheriff’s badges out of a Wild West film.

“The pistol had the same thing on its handle. I didn’t remember when I saw it—it’s been so long,” Luther muttered. That obviously bothered him. If he had remembered earlier, maybe he could’ve told his girlfriend not to be such an idiot and invite in strangers when the man was away from home.

Not that Dean felt any sympathy. “And this is important because?”

Luther gave him a very level look that probably was hiding a deep urge to rip off Dean’s head. If he tried, then that would be a great opening for some slashing action…but sadly, he managed to control himself. “There’s an old legend about a gun fitting that description, a Colt .45. Samuel Colt made it himself, supposedly on the day that the Alamo fell, for a…a hunter of the supernatural. The gun can kill anything. According to the story.”

“Anything like…” Sam made gestures for more details.

“Like vampires—you must have noticed before that bullets don’t do too much to us normally. Or like other things. Some versions say Colt had a run-in with something big and evil, like a demon, and was paying this hunter to go after it.” The way Luther said that, with the short pause before ‘demon,’ just screamed that he was deliberately dribbling information. He’d made a big production out of ‘legend’ as well, and not like he didn’t quite believe the story. More like…well, fine, like how Dean and Sam had gotten about those nutty ghost-hunters out in Texas.

Now Sam was giving Dean the stare that was saying ‘See? See?’ and Dean really just wanted to point out that their chains were getting yanked. So he did. “You mean bigger and more evil than you, I take it?”

Ah, so there were things besides his girlfriend that got on Luther’s nerves. “I do what I have to do in order to survive. The way I heard it, this demon was more the take-over-the-world type.”

“Yeah, and all you wanted was your little piece of backwoods hunting ground. I really see the difference there,” Dean muttered.

Luther lifted one eyebrow. He didn’t seem to notice what he was doing, but he was wrapping the chain of his manacles around one hand like he was getting ready for a backalley beatdown. Too bad he wasn’t in any condition for that. “Well, eventually the people that feel obligated to donate blood to you die, or end up needing donations themselves,” he said, voice just this side of razor-cutting. “And some people just don’t feel like putting that kind of burden on their human family.”

Dean leaned back and flicked his wrist so the shotgun snapped together. It also ended up aimed directly at Luther’s face. If he even twitched in Sam’s direction, he was gone.

“So. Do you have any idea which way we should go in the morning?” Sam abruptly said. He was standing too far away to elbow Dean in the side, but his expression pretty much did that for him.

It took a moment for Luther to collect himself. The bastard shot Dean another one of his thoughtful looks, like he was saying they both knew something, only Dean had no goddamn idea what that might be. Then he turned a much more polite face on Sam. “East, but that’s as good as I can get while I’m in here. I need to get outside.”

“Would you like a snack with that?” Dean sarcastically asked.

The comment seemed to get more to Sam than it did to Luther, who shrugged it off. “It would help. That circle that I was in drained me—in another day I’m going to be comatose, and then you might as well kill me for all the use I’ll be.”

Sam abruptly turned on his heel and stalked into the bathroom, muttering something about not having the time for this. Dean glanced at him, then at Luther, then finally got up. He grabbed the two bags of weaponry and went after Sam. “Don’t tempt me,” he called over his shoulder.

As soon as he could, he dumped the bags and kicked them into the bathroom. He would’ve kicked the toilet as well, only Sam happened to be bent over the sink and splashing his face with water. Not to mention somebody needed to be watching Luther.

“You know, this is a shitty way of making sure he knows we’re going to stick together,” Dean started.

“Yeah, your crankiness is really convincing. Dean, half the time you’re staring at his throat and the other half you’re doing that pull on me.” After cranking the water up a notch, Sam pulled up his left sleeve. He turned his wrist over and held it out. “Eat already. You’re driving _everyone_ nuts.”

“I’m not—” A series of loud clankings from outside made Dean whip around, but disappointingly, Luther had just crawled further onto the bed to lie down. He turned back to face Sam and Sam’s wrist was right there, inches from his mouth. The body heat coming off it was so strong Dean’s face felt like it was blistering a little, and suddenly he could hear nothing but Sam’s pulse.

He barely hung onto his sanity. Holding himself back till Sam got the message and lowered his wrist was the hardest thing Dean had ever had to do to date.

Sam started to say something, then cut himself off and glanced over Dean’s shoulder. He caught Dean’s eye again and shook his head—Luther hadn’t moved—before staring out into the other room. “He obviously already knows, Dean. Just take a little, take a nap, and we’ll get started when the sun goes down. I can’t keep my eye on both of you at once.”

He propped one arm up on the doorframe, then lifted his wrist again. After a moment, Dean reluctantly passed Sam the shotgun and leaned forward. A surge of nausea briefly gave Dean the ability to pause, but it went away too damn quick and then all Dean had in him was hunger.

When he bit down, he was dimly aware of Sam hissing out a breath. Sam’s fingers slid over Dean’s side, then fisted in it so Dean’s shirt rode up and something burning slightly grazed his skin: angelica. That knocked Dean out of his mindlessness enough to notice Sam was staring hard past him. The rich taste of blood soon dragged him back, but that little detail still bothered him. 

It was hard to limit himself to a few swallows, but he managed to do that without Sam having to resort to the angelica. “You stay on the other bed.”

“What, are you sharing with him? The internet jack is closer to—” Sam’s eyebrows went up, then down. He turned away to run his scabbing wrist under the water. “All right.”

* * *

Stifling a yawn, Dean stretched out his arms till his hands dangled over the edge of the bed. Then he rolled over. The mattress creaked so loudly he almost missed the sudden absence of other noise.

Dean paused. In the end, he’d decided on taking the same bed Sam did and had claimed the side nearest the other bed. At least, that had been the arrangement when he’d fallen asleep. Now that he was up, his feet were bumping into someone sitting on the edge of the mattress.

“You up? Hey, I was pulling some of the local news just to see if anything else had happened, and—Dean?” Sam looked puzzled.

Well, Dean was pretty confused himself, what with how painfully clear it was that he’d just interrupted a conversation. He shoved himself up on his elbows, then into a sitting position. His coat started to slide down his legs at that point and he grabbed it before it hit the floor. “No kidding. Is Elkins on there yet?”

Luther apparently had woken up some time before Dean had, and was lying on his side. It didn’t seem as his nap had done him any good: the skin under his eyes was sagging so the red of the inside was showing, making him look like somebody had run a tube of lipstick around his eyes. But he was still watching them too closely.

“Yeah. He had a regular night out at the local bar, or something. The bartender noticed he didn’t show and mentioned it to some kids, who decided they’d go rustle up the neighborhood hermit. They called it in,” Sam said, looking back at the laptop screen. He clicked a few times, winced slightly for no reason that Dean could see, then scrolled on. But a couple seconds later, he had to stop and press his hand against his temple, grimacing. “There was this other death. Bloodless corpse.”

“So there’s more of you?” Dean reached behind him and groped around till he got hold of the machete, glaring at Luther.

Son of a bitch’s poker face was really, really getting on Dean’s nerves, and it didn’t have a goddamned thing to do with hunger pangs. “Not as far as I know. We’ve been hunted and hunted—when you showed up, I was as surprised as you were. I thought me and mine were all that was left.”

“Hey, do _not_ talk about me like I’m—” Dean started.

At the same time, Sam said, “That’s why they’re all the way out here.”

For a moment, Dean just had to sit there and wait for the sour, hot gorge in his throat to go down enough for him to speak. Then he tilted his head and looked disbelievingly at Sam. “What, was he giving you his sob story? Man, even I could’ve done better than picking some barn only a couple of miles away from a big vampire-hunter.”

“I didn’t know Elkins was living in the area, otherwise I never would have settled my family here,” Luther snapped back. He got so worked up he actually started pushing himself up, not noticing how he was going even paler. Then it apparently all caught up with him at once and he slumped back down, muffling a hiss of pain.

“ _Anyway_.” Sam tapped at the keyboard so hard that Dean was surprised none of the keys bounced off. “This bloodless corpse. Was of a man who apparently had car trouble and decided to walk it home, only somebody picked him up, tied him to a tree upside-down and cut his throat very carefully.”

Dean was still concentrating on Luther, who’d gotten way too mad at that comment without sufficient explanation. Well, that and if he had gotten a little madder, then he’d have provided an excuse for head-chopping, and maybe he still would. “Carefully? Getting a little morbid, aren’t we?”

“The article says ‘surgical precision’ and that the police are looking for a psychopath with either medical or serious game-hunting skills. And don’t bring up the Benders—the important part is that all the blood’s gone. It wasn’t pooled up beneath him or splattered around or anything,” Sam muttered. After pulling up something on the computer, he turned it so Dean could see: a map plotting three points. “Also, this happened during the day, about an hour after dawn, and outside. Vampires are out.”

One map-point was Elkins’ place, Dean realized after a bit of blank staring. The second one…probably was about right for the vampire nest, and the third presumably was the murder. The three stars were in a big loop that swung out east, then came back towards the town.

“It would’ve been for Kate. She was too badly injured and she would’ve needed to feed.” Luther pushed himself onto his elbows again. His hair fell in his face and he absently rubbed it out of the way with his shoulder.

“So they’re hanging around. Why? What are they coming back for?” If Dean was remembering the location of their motel correctly, the site of the second murder wasn’t too far away. There was a chance that the police hadn’t messed with it so badly that all the useful tracks and scents had been lost.

“It might have been the…circle.” Sam coughed into his hand, which didn’t really cover up his yawn. He actually wasn’t looking very well: his eyes were blood-shot and the color was gone from his face. Even though Dean had tried not to take too much, he apparently had messed that up, too. “I wasn’t checking—I was just trying to break it, but you can probably wire those things to tell you when the spell’s finished. Or if someone interrupts.”

That combined with the general timing made sense, Dean reluctantly decided. It’d explain why whoever they were hadn’t dumped this Kate as soon as they’d crossed the town’s boundaries…but then, that assumed that these demon-backed badasses thought of Luther as a serious threat. Or maybe it was some piece of information he wasn’t telling that Sam and Dean could really use. Neither scenario was really appealing.

Even less appealing, once Dean had backtracked the conversation, was Sam’s offhand comment about wiring magic circles.

“We need to go there and check it out,” Luther said. He slowly pulled himself up into a sitting position, wincing and grimacing.

Sam glanced at him, then started to look at Dean. Something caught him in the middle of doing that so he flinched and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Headache. But he’s right. We might be able to—”

“Knock it off with the ‘we,’ all right?” Dean muttered. While Sam was busy death-glaring him, he reached out and tapped the side of Sam’s head. It didn’t feel warm, so it wasn’t a fever, but Dean still wasn’t about to chance anything. “It’s your turn to sleep anyway.”

Luther got it before Sam did and lifted his head to stare oddly at Dean. Of course, Dean didn’t really care what he got and was perfectly happy to ignore it. He just wished he had a better alternative to that than the weird and annoyed look Sam was giving him.

“I’m fine. I’ll take him out for a look. If there’s anything, I’ll call. If not, we come back and go with the other plan.” No, there wasn’t really another plan, and if Sam kept looking at Dean like that, even a two-year-old could figure it out.

“You have to go through the middle of town to get to that area,” Luther dryly commented.

Dean bit down, then forced himself to unclench his jaw. He debated things in his head for a few seconds, then gave it up. Maybe that kind of thing worked for Sam, but pure argument wasn’t going to change circumstances for the better. One way or another, he had to cut down on the contact Luther had with Sam, and since they couldn’t leave Luther in the room unwatched…taking the son of a bitch out with him was the only option. “And I guess the chains would make it a little obvious that I have no problem killing you. By the way, that doesn’t change once they come off.”

“I figured.” Now that Luther had had a little bit to get used to the idea, he seemed fine with it. That hadn’t exactly been the reaction Dean had been hoping for.

“Excuse—Dean, can I see you for a second?” Without waiting for an answer, Sam got up and walked into the bathroom. The moment Dean was inside, Sam exploded. “What the hell are you doing? First you’re all about finding any excuse to whack off his head, and now you want to drive him through town? Without restraints? Or back-up?”

Every instinct Dean had was telling him to look back into the other room, catch Luther staring again, and just slice off his head right there, but he ignored them with an effort Sam never was going to appreciate. “Sam—first of all? Voice down. My hearing’s gotten better since it happened, and I’m guessing his is the same. Second—he’s been staring at you. He’s picking up something and—”

“Didn’t know this came with a marking-the-territory complex,” Sam snorted.

At least, that was what Dean thought he heard. He stopped and gaped at Sam.

“Fuck. Goddamn it, that wasn’t…forget I said that.” Sam put his hand up to his face and rubbed at the bridge of his nose again. He squeezed his eyes shut, his breath hissing a little between his teeth. “It’s not like that, I know. I _know_. I didn’t mean that, only…Dean, he’s not watching me. And if he is, it’s because he’s hungry and I’m a walking bloodbag.”

“It’s more than that. I think I’d know—a little more about his motivations than you at this point.” The words didn’t come easily to Dean. If they had, he would’ve gotten down on his knees and asked Sam to decapitate him right then and there. As it was, he’d really appreciate a couple monsters being sent his way during the night so he could work out some of it. There was always more waiting in the wings, but at least he’d get a break. Some kind of break, goddamn it.

Sam glanced up at Dean, still clearly not believing, but it looked like he was going to be accepting. Lately he did that a lot more, cut Dean much more slack than he previously would’ve. It was just another reminder of how off-kilter their world had gotten. If he’d kept arguing, it actually would have made Dean feel better. Annoyed, but better.

“Your phone’s charged up, right?” Sam finally said. He glanced out the doorway, then back at Dean.

“Yeah. I’ll call you when we get there. Anyway, it wasn’t me the last time,” Dean replied. He frowned as Sam grimaced again. “What kind of headaches are they?”

“Not that kind, I think. I just…we’re out of aspirin. Want to pick some up while you’re out?” Sam bent over to turn on the water again. After splashing his face, he slid his hands around to rub at his temples.

Dean lifted his hand, then tapped Sam on the back of one shoulder. “Sure. I should be back three hours or so before daybreak.”

“I?” Sam asked.

“Well, a man can dream, can’t he?” Yeah, but lately all Dean was coming up with was nightmares. He looked at Sam a last time, then stepped out into the other room to unchain Luther.


	3. Digging Deeper

The place where the man had been discovered was sheltered from the road by a lot of foliage, but even from the road, the trail to it was so wide and obvious that not even the dumbest, most citified cop could’ve missed it. No wonder the report had hit the Internet so quick.

Dean drove past it and parked the car about a hundred yards from where the yellow tape started, then cranked down his window.

“There’s no one there,” Luther said. He’d been pretty quiet ever since they’d left the motel except for rolling half-down the window on his side without asking. But ever since they’d stopped, he’d gotten a little more restless. “But—”

“Your girlfriend was earlier, yeah, yeah.” Same smell as the strongest one in Elkins’ house, though she’d been reeking anger and fear. It was mixed in with the faintly acrid scent that had been all over the barn, plus something herbal that Dean knew he should recognize, but didn’t quite. He poked his brain harder; he really didn’t need any more sources of frustration at this point.

Luther hadn’t even been able to walk to the car without some grudging help from Dean, and since then he’d sensibly kept his movements to a minimum. But now he compressed his lips and lifted one arm to prop it on the side of the window. He started to lean out and Dean eased one hand towards his gun, but Luther got some hint of that and moved back. “She’s not just my girlfriend.”

“No, you had a whole undead Romeo and Juliet deal going,” Dean muttered. He squinted at the woods bounded by the police tape, but couldn’t make out anything really useful. They’d have to get out, he thought as he closed his window. “Roll up your side.”

“You don’t think we can care about others?” Luther asked. He did what Dean said with sloppy, fumbling motions.

Dean rolled his eyes and judged the area again. On the one hand, it’d be pretty easy for someone to lose pursuers in that kind of brush, even with an enhanced sense of smell. On the other…Luther really, truly didn’t seem to be in good enough condition to try that. “Look, if I gave a damn about that, I’d never get anything done. Now out of the car. Let’s go see if your girlfriend got herself a good meal—which would put her one up on you.”

“It does make it easier to hunt if you think of it that way.” The words rolled out of Luther’s mouth with that ironic, knowing edge that shredded the ends of Dean’s nerves. “I hope she did. Kate’s still young—she wouldn’t be able to take much.”

After unlocking the doors, Dean grabbed the machete before he hauled himself out of the car. He leaned against the side and tapped his fingers impatiently on the roof, watching Luther get out, which was a multi-step process. First getting the door open, then hooking one arm over the roof, then pulling himself out. Brief breather while his skin went gray in the dim light before he rolled over and shoved the door shut. He rolled back, resting his head on his arms, and his arms on the top of the car, to stare exhaustedly at Dean. Nice sympathy ploy, there.

His eyes glowed—more than Dean’s did. He looked like a clip from a nature special about midnight predators of the savannah, whereas the few times Dean had glimpsed a night reflection of himself, it’d been more like seeing a pair of white dots.

“Dude, the only reason I’d want to hear something about your girlfriend is if it’s somebody telling me another bloodsucking, murdering creep of the night bit it.” Dean locked up, then swung the machete to rest on his shoulder. He smiled humorlessly at the pissed-off look Luther didn’t exactly hide and generously waved for him to go first. “Fall in love, have a moonlit wedding, celebrate your golden anniversaries. It’s still not going to get me on your side because you know what? To do all that, you have to _kill_ people. And if you’ve got a right to live, then why don’t they?”

If Luther had been able to help it, he probably would’ve started walking right away. But he needed a few moments after pushing away from the car, so he had to put up with it. Eventually he started moving—slow, slightly weaving, grabbing onto supports whenever he could. “Aren’t you being a little hypocritical?”

“I haven’t killed anyone for blood yet. And I don’t plan to,” Dean said, barely keeping from snarling. Or from grabbing his phone. He already wanted to call Sam and make sure his brother actually had done as he’d been told…except if that were the case, then calling would wake him up. Damn it.

Luther paused to lean over the guardline, then glanced up. “What if it’s you or them?”

“Then I’m a dead bloodsucking son of a bitch, and Sam’s—” That didn’t bear thinking on. At least, not now. It’d been less than a month since that had almost happened and Dean had gotten a glimpse of Sam gone over the edge, and that was _not_ happening. Not even in Dean’s thoughts.

Something similar to a smile, but not nearly as nice, passed over Luther’s face. He turned away and started walking again before Dean could make out the whole thing. “Heard that before. Never lasts for long.”

“Well, you don’t exactly know me, do you?” Dean muttered. The bastard probably had never tried to find a way to reverse the vampirism anyway. There was at least one—the problem just was making it work without also flipping Sam onto the Dark Side of the Force.

God. Even Dean’s sense of humor was going down the drain.

Luther stopped again once they’d reached where the grass and dirt had been scuffled up at the edge of the road. He started to bend down, then glanced at Dean. Once he guessed that Dean wasn’t going to slice ‘n dice him, he continued till he was squatting on the pavement. He started to prod and pull at the grass till he came up with something.

“What is that?” Dean said. “Let me see.”

An impulse to refuse went over Luther’s face, which was a little out of character for him. He looked at whatever it was, swallowing hard a couple times, then finally held it up: a fang. The base was whole and had some drying gummy strands clinging to it, so it’d been wrenched out instead of broken.

“Do you mind if I hold onto it? If you want to see it again, I can just take it out,” Luther said. He made it sound like they were parodying the standard torture scene from an old POW-camp flick.

“Go ahead. I sure as hell don’t want it.” Dean wondered if he could just tell Sam the son of a bitch had tried to take off.

It was a nice thought, but it wouldn’t work. Being undead didn’t make Dean any better of a liar, and Sam’s new tendency to cut long slack only went so far.

The leaves and branches of the underbrush had been smashed around, like Luther’s girlfriend—or the poor guy that’d ended up feeding her—had put up a good fight. It led them through an irritating tangle of yellow tape that ringed a slight hollow about fifty yards from the road; the depression was around five feet across and surrounded by tall trees, which created an effective screen.

The tree that’d gotten used as the slaughtering rack still had rope knotted around one of its branches, with the dangling end looking so frayed that it resembled one of those tasseled curtain pulls in fancy places. On the bark, at a spot about level with Dean’s head, was a strong patch of urine reek. He blew out his nose and stepped back, grimacing.

Luther had completely ignored the tree in favor of scuffling around in the dirt with his foot. He suddenly stooped and picked up an unusually straight stick, then sniffed at it. “Kate…and dead blood.”

“Dead blood?” The stick had been smoothed and polished so it gleamed: part of a crossbow dart, maybe. Crossbows. It’d be too damned cute if all the demon-y underlings got a standard weapons kit.

“Corpse blood. It’s like a poison to us. Slows you down, makes things hazy,” Luther muttered. “I don’t know this one—the one that has her.”

Neither did Dean, though it definitely was the same person that’d hit the barn. It did remind him a lot of Meg, but it also reminded him of the smell Sam put off when he was doing some spell, so most of it might just be occupational. The rest, the part that should’ve told him who it was…didn’t. So they were up against someone new, apparently. Great. “Dead man’s blood, huh? I’ll make a note of that.”

“I’m sure you are.” Luther flashed Dean another one of his little ironic looks before stepping—slowly and awkwardly—out of the clearing. He rustled around the branches a little before coming back, shaking his head. “No trail away from here. It goes here—”

“—then doubles back to town.” So they’d ended up learning nothing new. “Well, this was a load of wasted time. Come on, back to the car.”

* * *

In the end, Dean saved his call to Sam till they’d driven into town and parked outside a bar—only place open at this hour. Calling while driving would’ve meant one hand on the phone, the other on the wheel, and no hands free to deal with Luther should he try something. “Bust, more or less. All it did was confirm that the thing’s dragging vampy’s girl around and that it U-turned back to town.”

*Well, it kept us from heading out of town,* Sam said with a touch of annoyance. And a touch of a yawn; he’d said Dean hadn’t woken him up, but clearly that had been a line of bullshit. *Any ideas where they went? Ancient Indian burial grounds…legendary bad places…anything with the kind of vibe a demon would like?*

“Was I supposed to be doing background research while I chauffeured Luther around?” Dean switched phone-hands and propped his elbow up on the window.

Luther leaned his forehead against his window and let out a tiny, irritable sigh. His eyes narrowed to slits, making the heavy bags beneath them even deeper. “There are plenty. This was a violent area well into this century.”

The backdoor of the bar opened up and a laughing couple drunkenly stumbled out. The man had one arm slung around the woman and was trying hard to get his other one around her, but one, his eye-hand coordination wasn’t in peak condition. Two, she was trying to get back inside. Then another woman came out and helped haul her back in, much to the man’s loud dismay. But he went back in as well.

The first woman and the man hadn’t seemed to interest Luther much, but when the second woman came out, he opened his eyes and straightened up a little. There was something about her…not her looks, but some rich, sweet smell that drifted from her across the parking lot. She’d glanced over too, and maybe had seen them.

*…have to go,* Sam said.

“What?” Dean sat up himself.

In the background on the other end of the line, someone was knocking on the door. *I need to go answer that,* Sam said. *I woke up hungry and ordered food—I’ll call back when I’ve gotten rid of them.*

“Save me some,” Dean replied. He hung up, then glared at Luther. “Knock that off.”

“She’s got her period. Heavy—plenty of blood in it. You can smell it, can’t you?” Luther obviously could. He was awkwardly clipping off the ends of some of his words, and when he turned his head around like he was working out a cramp, the light glinted off elongated teeth. Then he slid down so his knees crammed up against the dashboard; his teeth were back to normal, and Dean could see that because the lips were pulled back in a tight grimace. “I’m _hungry_. I can’t help that.”

Dean slowly, deliberately twisted his hands around the wheel, working up some smell from the leather covering. “Stop talking about that.”

His cell buzzed him and he took it out again. It was from Sam, but it was a text and not a phone call: _Stay out hours._ Which made Dean’s eyebrows go up a bit, since Sam generally was about as anal about his grammar as he was about everything else. He shimmied his hand lower so his thumb could reach all of the keypad and started to send a reply.

Maybe Luther wasn’t talking anymore, but he was proving he didn’t need to do that in order to get at Dean. He’d turned over on his side so he was facing the window and it would’ve sounded like he’d stopped breathing, except every so often he sucked in air in a long, ragged, hiss. Yeah, he was hungry, and it was getting to Dean, who’d _eaten_ , for God’s sake.

The cell went off again. Another text message: _Cops. Stalling._.

Shit. What the hell had happened? Had Sam dropped his wallet at Elkins’ place or something?

“Are we going?” Luther asked, low and raspy. He had his fingers up on the window and was scratching at the edge. The smell rolling off him was sharp and sick, like the stink of vomit that was nearly all beer.

It was itchy, digging beneath Dean’s skin even after he rolled his window down for some fresh air. He laid his hand on the edge of the glass, wishing it was a little bit sharper so he could use it to focus his thoughts. Whatever the police were there for, Sam could handle himself. And if he did end up in jail, then Dean had better be on the outside. Man, Sam had better have hid all the weapons.

“How old are you?” Luther suddenly said, turning around. He’d gotten a lot paler and behind their glow, his eyes had a feverish glitter to them. “How long do you think you can go on half-rations? You keep yourself like that and you’re going to snap, and then it doesn’t matter how you feel about your brother.”

“Shut. Up.” Right, so they weren’t going back right away. That would’ve been fine with Dean if he had somewhere to drop off Luther, because he didn’t like how Luther eyed Sam. It was too much like that odd possessive look Meg had gotten. But on the other hand, Dean seriously did not enjoy spending time with Luther that didn’t involve a chance to kill him. “We aren’t going back yet. Sam’s heading off the police.”

Luther frowned questioningly. Then he stiffened. Behind him, the window framed a woman swaying out of the bar doorway—that one. She leaned back in to shout something about there being nothing she liked in _side_ , then stumbled out and fell against the wall. “Hey. _Hey_. You in the car—were you looking at me and Anita earlier?”

“I won’t kill her. I won’t even bite her. But I need something—I need to feed, or else I’m going to die—” The seat back groaned as Luther ground his hand into it. He glanced over his shoulder, then back at Dean. Then his eyes flicked down to the knife that Dean was using to hold up his chin.

“Aw, you’re scared of dying. I’m—so—sympathetic.” Dean prayed that that damned girl would just pass out, but he got enough glimpses past Luther to see that she was still mobile and coming closer and closer. “We shouldn’t be alive anyway. We’re fucking—”

That surprised Luther. Then he surprised Dean by slightly jerking his head down so the metallic smell of blood suddenly filled the car. A few hot drops stung Dean’s hand. “If you want help from me, you have to keep me alive.”

Someone knocked on the window. “Hey, guys.” A long-fingered, pretty hand with some kind of gold ring on it dragged across the window on Luther’s side. “Oh, God, don’t tell me you’re fags like the bastards in there.”

Sometimes Dean just didn’t _get_ people, and this was one of those times so strongly that he was almost choking on it. He looked at Luther, then outside, then back. Luther cocked his head, raising his eyebrows. Then he lifted his chin off the knife and slowly turned around, rubbing at the underside of his jaw. He rolled down his window. “Hello, honey. Sorry—my friend here was just trying to tell me not to get in trouble tonight.”

No chopping in front of witnesses. At least, conscious ones. Dean gritted his teeth and waited for Luther to twist and fumble his way out of the car—he did a decent job of making his weakness look like drunkenness, not that it mattered to the girl. Then, when Luther was half-out and couldn’t look behind him, Dean reached beneath the seat and got the machete. The knife went up his sleeve, the blood on it drying so it stuck to his arm.

He quietly opened the door on his side and got out to the accompaniment of faked shrieks of embarrassment and a lot of alcohol-fueled, nonsensical “sex talk.” Luther and the girl started out tonguing, but by the time Dean had gotten halfway around the car, Luther had dropped out of sight. The girl jerked up against the side of the car, gasping and wide-eyed, and Dean nearly lunged the last few feet.

“Oh, oh… _God_.” Her head went back, then lazily lolled so she smiled slackly at Dean. She dropped her hands to run through Luther’s hair and cup his head, which was half-hidden by her rucked-up skirt. Her knees bowed, then snapped together as one of her three-inch heels slid on the pavement.

Blood rolling off her. Blood and heat and sweet life, so thick Dean could open his mouth and taste it from where he was standing a few feet away. He belatedly remembered to stick the machete behind his back so she didn’t see it. He did that and found himself six inches closer than where he should have been, and smacked himself against the car so that the side-mirror was between them and would warn him the next time.

“Still against trouble?” The girl timed her laugh wrong, letting it coincide with a moment where she was gasping, so she choked. Her hips were moving, sliding up and down the side of the car, and the air around Dean was moving in the same rhythm, teasing from her to him. A couple more inches and he could lean over and suck some of that delicious thrumming straight from her mouth. “Oh, man, your friend…nice…man doesn’t mind that time of the month…”

No, he didn’t, and the moment he got away from the girl, he was getting two feet of steel in his neck.

The side-view mirror hit Dean in the stomach hard enough to knock out some of his breath. He coughed, then grabbed onto it. But the steel started to bend, and loud enough for the girl to notice, so he forced himself to move back. He dragged his hand onto the hood and flattened it out against the cool metal. His skin felt like it was burning up, shrinking—over his stomach it was pulling too tight so it was like his middle was caving in on itself, wrapping up around his backbone.

Whatever her name was had stopped talking, and was just riding Luther’s mouth, her fingers digging so hard into his scalp that the knuckles were whitened. She tossed her head back and forth, probably thinking that was sexy. It wasn’t, really—Dean’s eyes were fixed on her throat and on the rapid pulse he could see in it, on the low incessant drumming inside his skull that ran up and down his nerves. When he opened his mouth to breathe, he could feel the stickiness of her sweat against his lips, the shivering roughness of callused fingers rubbing her thighs.

He heaved himself around and stared at the neon sign above the bar. The soft green and blue swam, looped in crazy spirals and snaked back to dance like flames over coals. Dean ran his tongue over his teeth and the tiny bit of coppery blood that brought up shocked him as if he’d been sucker-punched.

“Oh…man.” Giggle. The girl was still sprawled against the car, shakily pushing her skirt down. She paused once to poke at the faint red smears that streaked Luther’s cheeks. “You went so far up I think I’m gonna make it all the way inside without having to worry about my panties.”

If Dean had been in any shape to even process that, he would’ve gagged. But it was background noise. It was all…background noise, and his gut was killing him. His head was killing him. His jaw hurt from keeping his teeth pressed together tightly enough to keep them of even length. “See you.”

“But your friend—he needs to loosen up,” she added, glancing at Dean. Then down at his crotch.

It pained him, and part of it wasn’t because she didn’t have a single damn particle of self-preservation in her pretty head, but he waved her off. “Thanks, but no thanks.” He glanced at Luther. “We. Need. To. Get. Going.”

The way Dean was right now, he needed things to go either of two ways. The heavy blade still hanging between him and the car was one option; Luther took the other, sliding back into the car.

The girl went inside—at least, she was heading in that direction. Dean didn’t give a shit and didn’t look to see if she got to the door. He stalked around the side of the car, threw himself in, and started up the engine.

At least the town was small. It took three minutes to get to a stretch of road where he couldn’t see any lights or buildings of any kind. He pulled over to the side and lifted his hands to rest them on top of the wheel, only his right hand was full. He’d forgotten to put down the machete—the tip probably had gouged a hell of a hole out of the flooring. After a moment of blind staring, Dean blinked hard as the machete was knocked out of his hand and into the backseat.

Then he’d been slammed up against the door and was struggling to keep Luther’s hand from crushing his windpipe. He couldn’t see anything but dark hair, but he could hear Luther, slick and amused, whispering in his ear. “Like it or not, you depend on blood. You feel better, you run faster, you get stronger when you’re well-fed.”

Luther was shoved up against him, scent of the girl all over him, rubbing wet traces of her against Dean’s cheek, and he was warm with the girl’s blood and—“I _know_ ,” Dean hissed back, dropping his hands.

He slid them around and hooked his fingers into Luther’s sides just as he twisted around to smash his mouth into Luther’s. Wrong angle, not matched up, all teeth, but Jesus Christ, it was enough for Dean to start feeding and he went so high he didn’t care. He ripped open Luther’s lower lip with his teeth and the blood was good, but pushing his tongue into Luther’s mouth and having that extra _pulse_ come into him, having Luther just goddamn shove it at him with a sharp buck—that was better. Much better.

That’d been what Sam’s failed spell had done. Blood was necessary, but _this_ was faster and gave more and was so much easier to take too far. But Dean didn’t care about Luther, so he didn’t worry about it. He knuckled under his fingers, made ridges of them that he rolled over Luther’s back and down to his hips, getting drunk on the rising waves of lust and shock and confusion.

He could feel when Luther got hold of himself enough to start figuring it out. Felt the stiffening in the muscles, _drank_ the disbelief. Licked up the startled gasp and the surge of fear as his head spun, savored the aftertaste of the bloody sticky sweet he scraped off Luther’s cheeks with his teeth.

“What the hell—” Now Luther tried to back it off. He pushed at Dean, then tried to get his arm back to punch, but the space was too cramped. “What _are_ you?”

And Dean wasn’t nearly full yet. He came after Luther as the vamp jerked back, went over and hit the door. Wrenched Luther’s hand off the door handle and dropped down to grind his mouth up the side of Luther’s neck. “Funny question.”

A deep moan came raggedly out of Luther and he twisted hard so his knee slid past Dean. He looked like he hated himself for that, like he hadn’t been able to help it. Well, welcome to the fucking club, the tiny sane part of Dean snarled. The rest of Dean was sucking up the frustration, burrowing at Luther’s neck and chest because God, it was so rich it was like it was coming out of his skin. Tasted like it.

Dean’s hands were down between them, pressing and molding Luther’s dick through his jeans. The warmth came up through the denim and flowed straight into Dean’s veins, making it feel like he had sparks coming out of his fingertips. He ground down with the heel of his hand and opened his mouth so it was ready to take the curve of Luther’s neck. He bit on that—not hard enough to break the skin, because then he could do it again and again and each time he’d get another wonderful wave of sensation pouring into him, filling him out, pressing his skin away from his bones so pain couldn’t get to him.

Luther had stopped shoving at Dean—had dropped his hands from Dean, period. One of them dangled over the side of the seat; the other one, Dean had pinned up against the door. He leaned back to move and his weight fell more heavily on it and it was _cold_. The fingers were cold. And the eyes staring wildly up at him were draining of color.

Something about that stuck at Dean, made him pause. And when he did, Luther abruptly twisted up at him and an explosive burst of feeling flooded Dean. He put up a fight, but only for a second before everything went black.

* * *

Dean clawed back to consciousness with a vengeance, terrified that he’d wake up just in time to see Luther kill him on the way to getting at Sam. But when he opened his eyes, Luther was still lying beneath him on the seat—it looked like not more than a couple seconds had passed.

“Try anything—” Dean’s mouth was dry and he had to pause to wet his lips “—try anything and you’ll see what I’m like when I’m well-fed.”

“You—you can _feed_ that way?” Luther gaped. He was…well, he didn’t look as badly off as before, but he’d definitely lost most of his earlier boost. He didn’t smell like the girl now.

Goddamn it. Dean shoved himself back into the driver’s seat, then remembered that the tissues were in the glove compartment. He hauled himself back, trying to lean over Luther as little as possible, and banged it open. There weren’t many enough, so he’d have to remember to fill up once they were back at the motel.

He grabbed a couple and pushed back, turning away so he could get his jeans open and clean himself off without making the situation even worse. The seat creaked as Luther reached for a couple as well.

“So…does your brother help out with this, too?” Luther asked.

He was lucky Dean happened to have his hands full doing up his fly at that point. “Now you’re really sounding like you want me to kill you.”

“You don’t sound as enthusiastic about that as you did before.” Luther looked up to meet Dean’s eyes. He didn’t exactly flinch, but he did make a backward movement. “No, I’m asking because I don’t understand this—what you are. Though I do now see why you’d hate this more than any other vampire I’ve ever met.”

“Thanks. That really makes me feel better.” Actually, the reason Luther was lucky had more to do with how amazingly clear-headed and able Dean now felt, and how incredibly shitty he felt about that. Maybe it wasn’t his brother this time, but he’d still liked the feeding while he’d been doing it. And he hated that—it made him wonder if there’d ever be a time where he’d start to like feeding even when he wasn’t starved into it. “I’d find a guillotine and chop myself if it were an option.”

Fuck, the tissues. Dean wasn’t going to pitch them onto the side of the road, but he wasn’t going to stuff them into the goddamn trash drawer, either. He stared at them, then almost banged his head against the wheel for sheer slowness. Instead of doing that, he dug out his lighter and stuck his fistful of crumpled tissues out the window to light them up.

“Why not?” Well, didn’t sex make Luther curious.

Didn’t it make Dean feel like hell these days, and that was just…fucked up. “Because I’m not leaving Sam. I’m not leaving him to get fucked up by monsters like you or that son of a bitch demon we’re hunting.”

“He doesn’t seem all that spineless to me,” Luther said. He coughed slightly. When Dean turned around, Luther held out his handful. “Want to torch these too, or should I hold onto them?”

Dean thought about making the bastard hold them, since his needling side was obviously coming back, but if he did that, he’d be smelling it all the way back. Well, he would anyway, but it’d be even worse. “Here, give them over. And Sam’s not, but…look, he’s not your brother, and you don’t know jack shit about what we’ve been through. You don’t know what that demon can do to people. It gets in—”

“—and the person you know just kind of…fades out.” Luther hauled himself all the way into a sitting position, then slumped against the door. He looked steadily at Dean. “Look, that legend? It’s not a legend. If we’re talking about the same demon—it pops up every so often. It was around in the eighteen-thirties, and the hunter who went after it then was Ivan Isaacs.”

“You sound like you knew the guy,” Dean said under his breath. After flicking the last bits of ash from his fingers, he pulled himself back inside the car and rolled up the window. Then he started the engine.

“I did know the guy. He was a friend of mine. The demon got him, I figure…I wasn’t there. Mail was less than fast back then, so I heard about five months later. Got sloppy afterward, and that’s why I am, to put it in your words, a ‘bloodsucking, murdering creep of the night.’” It was all delivered in that very calm, very emotionless tone that seemed to be Luther’s specialty.

Dean had a first impulse, but suppressed it in favor of thinking. He slung his arm over the seat and felt around. Just then they had to take a turn and the momentum sent something clattering across the back to cut the side of Dean’s hand. He suppressed his wince and grabbed the machete, then swung it over to lean between him and Luther. “That’s so very, very interesting—not. The only part I care about—no, that’s not right. The part that’s keeping me from killing you still is the stuff about the demon. As for the rest…you made the wrong decision, in my opinion. You were a _hunter_ and then you’re okay with suddenly playing for the other side?”

“I love how you wave off almost two hundred years like that. Maybe I had family around to see to, and then maybe I got used to liking the idea of living,” Luther snapped.

“What about this demon? You were never tempted to go after it before?” Dean retorted.

Luther started to spit out something nasty, but stopped himself. He pressed the side of his hand to his mouth for a second, then took it away to stare out the window. “I’ll help you get to this demon. But my interest ends in getting Kate and me out of firing range. Believe me, I won’t ever stop going in the opposite direction.”

“That depends on whether I feel like living with knowing that any monster got away. And believe _me_ , the list of things I have to live with is pretty full already.” Dean pulled onto the turn-off and sped through a red light, since no one was out at this hour but the nasty things in the dark. Another five minutes and they’d be back at the motel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I am referencing the _Priest_ manhwa series.


	4. Paterfamilias

Sam flipped shut his phone as he walked towards the door. Whoever was outside was really banging now. He had a knife nestling in his left hand as he used his right to swing open the door, and considering how the night had gone so far, he was hoping he might have a chance to use it. “I’m coming, I’m coming. Just hang on a second—”

John Winchester stared back at Sam. “Sorry, I can’t do that.”

The first thing that went through Sam’s mind was…absolutely nothing. He just blanked. The second thing, after he’d done some blinking and noticed that John was getting a little edgy about still standing on the porch, was that there was no way Dean could come back yet. “Dad?”

“Hi, Sam.” Tiny red veins formed a ramshackle cradle for his father’s pupils, barely holding them back from falling into the deep circles beneath each eye. The corner of John’s mouth pulled up in a half-hearted smile.

Still gaping, Sam backed up and motioned for him to come inside. At the same time, Sam swapped knife for phone. He kept his hand down and behind him, keying in a text message by memory of where the right keys should be. That was a lot harder than it sounded, and the first one got a little bit screwed up. “I…whoa. Where—what are you doing here?”

“Daniel Elkins. He was my mentor, back when I’d just started hunting. I haven’t spoken to the man in years, but he called me a few days ago from this area. So I came down and picked up the newspaper to find out something had killed him.” John walked slowly into the room, looking around. He seemed calm enough, but he was going to pull the interrogation routine on Sam in a second.

“What happened between you and him?” Sam asked, taking stock of the room as well. Weapons were on the table—nothing out of the ordinary. The chains—what had Sam done with the chains? 

“We had a kind of falling-out,” John said. He glanced at the chairs, which were piled high with duffel bags. One of Luther’s shirts was visible inside one bag and Sam tensed up, but John didn’t seem to see it. “When did you get here?”

At least the chains weren’t on the bed, which would’ve been tough to explain…oh, right, Sam had shoved them underneath the bed closest to the door just in case he slept through the cleaning staff’s knock. As long as his dad didn’t go bouncing madly on the bed, they should stay hidden. “Just a couple days ago, but after Elkins died. Did you already go up there?”

“I did. What are you doing here?” John abruptly asked.

Sam closed the door behind himself, locked it, and leaned against it. He twisted slightly so he could see his phone, but John wouldn’t be able to. As quickly as he could, he messaged Dean with some vague thing about cops; hopefully, that’d be good enough to keep Dean away. “Caleb told us to see him when we called up for some help. We ran into some vampires, and you always told us those were extinct—”

“Because that’s what I thought. I thought hunters like Elkins had gotten them all…but that’s the likeliest thing to have killed him, to judge from what I saw. Where were these other vampires?” John sat down on the bed. The bed without the chains under it, which made Sam relax a little bit. Then he looked up at Sam, going from quiet to hard in a second. “Where’s Dean?”

“Oh, out with some girl he picked up. She waitresses at this…this bar, and he thinks she can tell him something about any strangers that have come through town,” Sam babbled. He thumbed off his phone and slid it into his pocket. “Why did Elkins call you?”

Oddly enough, that didn’t get him the pointed questioning that Sam had figured on, given that he’d called Elkins up for ways on reversing vampirism, not plain killing methods. Instead John gave him a strange probing look. “Not because of you, so you can imagine my surprise when I spotted the Impala in town earlier today. He didn’t mention you were here, or that you’d called him.”

Sam searched for something to say and his eyes landed on the ice bucket, which he’d just filled up a few hours ago. He walked over and spooned some of the watery mush that was in it now; a couple ice slivers squirted out of his shaky hands and jittered on the table. “Well, we called you first about the vampire, but you didn’t answer. Why didn’t you call when you first saw us? So where have you been? Have you found out anything else about the demon?”

“Elkins left me a letter—I still can’t believe that son of a bitch had it all along…” John’s voice drifted off as he pulled out a folded, spotted sheet of paper. The expression he wore when he unfolded it was a weird mixture of satisfaction and frustration, like he’d gotten one thing but had needed two. “Have you been up to his place yet?”

Thank God for ice. Sipping some of the melt-water gave Sam a couple seconds to think furiously about what to say. It was possible he and Dean had left tracks that they’d have to explain, and that might lead to talking about Dean’s problem before Sam had figured out how to. On the other hand, saying they hadn’t might result in more questions about what they were doing here, which could lead to the same thing.

In the end, Sam decided option two was more likely to keep his dad focused on whatever matter lay between him and Elkins, and less on why his sons were in town. “No. Haven’t had the time yet—we were going to go tonight? What was Elkins calling about? Is he helping you with the demon?”

“Then we have to find the vampires that killed Daniel. Call Dean and tell him to meet us,” John barked, getting back up. The letter went into a pocket inside his coat. He marched towards the door like he had an inner drum beating out time in his head.

He probably did, Sam sourly thought. Sam put down his glass and slid to the side so he blocked John’s path. For a couple moments, he seriously thought his father might run him over. When John did stop, he literally was toe-to-toe with Sam.

“Sam—”

“Wait, Dad. Why am I calling Dean? What’s going on? What did Elkins have—what are we supposed to be looking for?” Sam said. He’d meant to be calm and mature about it, but the more he talked, the more his father’s face hardened. And the more that happened, the shorter Sam’s temper got. “Look, I’ll call him and go, but not before I know what this is about. It’s not going to make things faster to keep us in the dark.”

John pursed his lips. It wasn’t a signal that he was thinking things over, because a second later he just tried to swerve around.

Sam grabbed his arm and got a snarl for his effort. “Neither is standing around talking. I’ll tell you what you need to know on the way—”

“Really? Are you sure, Dad? Or are you just trying to get me out the door?” Sam snapped.

“Not now, Sam. We’re wasting time, and every second means those vampires could be getting farther away. Just do as I say.” One hard jerk and John was free of Sam’s grip, walking fast so Sam didn’t get a chance to grab him away. He unlocked the door and was standing in the doorway by the time Sam had gotten his coat.

Every single time. Every single damned time, he’d just brush them off like this, and after he’d spent Sam’s whole life drumming into them to always keep an eye out, do the research, make sure they were informed. “No. Sir.”

That made John turn and face him. “Sam—”

“Look, we call to visit Elkins and the day we show up, he gets killed! By vampires! If this is about the other vampire, then this is part of our job and I want to know what’s going on!” Sam threw up his hand as he spat out the last word and hit the wall. He winced, then took a step back, cradling his hand. He looked up at his dad’s stern face and kept watching it as he deliberately took another step back.

John clenched his jaw. His eyes flashed and he lifted his shoulders, resettling them in a obstinate slope, but then he drew back. “Elkins had this antique pistol, and it’s extremely important that we get it back from those vampires. It wasn’t at his house, so they must have it. I’ve checked local disappearances around here, and they all center around this one area. We’ll try it first, then look farther. Call Dean.”

With that, he spun on his heel and walked out the door. He didn’t look to see if Sam was following.

Sam was torn between gritting his teeth, yelling after his father, or grimacing at the cold knot that had formed in his stomach. It had to be the same gun, and it wasn’t hard to guess why his dad wanted it. If the legend Luther had mentioned was true, then it could kill the demon they’d been after. And whoever had killed all the vampires wasn’t just someone like Meg, but was probably someone that had worked with her, for that demon.

But if he talked about that, he’d have to get into Dean being a vampire, and John obviously wasn’t that fond of vamps right now. “Dad?”

“What, Sam?” John paused half-into the driver’s seat of his truck.

“Can I get some coordinates? So I can tell Dean where to meet us?” Sam asked, barely suppressing the sarcasm. He’d tell Dad about everything when they got there, after he’d had time to put together a game plan. And after he’d warned Dean.

Sighing, John reached into the car. A couple seconds later he held out a scrap of paper to Sam, which Sam took before walking around to get in the other side. His earlier headache had disappeared, but now it was coming back.

* * *

Up in the mountains, the cell phone coverage wasn’t that great. It took several tries for Sam to finally get Dean’s phone, and by that time, they were almost at the vampire nest. It also was getting near to morning, which meant Dean would be beginning to turn drowsy.

*Sam, I’m not doing this again,* Dean said as soon as he answered. *Next time, I’m waiting for you and then we’re all going out. I’m not putting up with him by myself—*

“Dean, Dad’s here. He just showed up…about forty minutes ago.” To Sam’s ears, his own voice sounded tense and odd. He glanced over, but John was intent on the road ahead of them.

It was a while before Dean said anything. He was still driving, because Sam could hear the low rumble of the engine. *How?*

“Elkins called him about this pistol he had, and Dad thinks vampires killed him for it. We’re heading for where he thinks the vampires are—” Sam limply read off the coordinates, knowing it was unnecessary “—and he wants you to meet us there. You and Jeannie done yet?”

*Jeannie? Who the hell is—oh. Fuck.* Luther said something in the background and Dean snapped at him to shut the hell up. *Fuck. All right. I’ll be there in another…twenty minutes—Sam. Did you tell him?*

Sam stared out at the dark woods, wondering how far it might go. Hoping to God or somebody that he didn’t find out. Dean wasn’t dying by anyone’s hands, he knew that, but he didn’t know what he’d do if that was what Dad wanted. He’d told Luther that nothing was going to divide his family, but he wasn’t so sure now. “He hasn’t told me anything else.”

*Shit, _Sam_. You didn’t tell him we’ve already—never mind. I’m coming.* The other end of the line went dead with a sharp click.

They drove the rest of the way in silence. By the time they arrived, the sky had lightened to a dark purple, though dawn was still a couple hours off. The Impala was already there, parked in the middle of the field, and Dean was leaning against one side. Luther wasn’t anywhere immediately in sight, though Sam looked hard and long for him. That was worrying—despite the nineties trash wardrobe, Luther was a lot smarter and more sophisticated than any of the other monsters they’d run across to date. While Dean had been asleep, he’d been asking questions about how they coped—questions that made it clear he’d already guessed what problems they had.

But Dean was merely standing there, hands shoved in his pockets, and not throwing a fit, so Sam grudgingly assumed that Luther was secured, wherever he was.

John stared grimly at the burnt barn as he climbed out of the cab, but once he was down on the ground, he smiled. “Dean.”

“Sir,” Dean replied in a constricted voice. He looked…maybe it was the low lighting, but he looked much, much better than when he’d left. He had his tan back and if someone didn’t know differently, they wouldn’t have any way of telling that he wasn’t quite human. “Listen, Dad—I need to tell you something. We were on this hunting trip and we ran into a vampire—”

“And you ended up calling Elkins. Sam already told me, and I’m not offended. Right now I’m just worried about finding that gun the vampires stole. What happened here? It looks like someone came after them.” A breeze whipped up and John pulled up his collar as he started across the field. “Did you look it over yet?”

Dean stared desperately at Sam, demanding that Sam do something without giving any clue as to what that was supposed to be. Sam helplessly spread his hands and Dean bit back a snarl, then spun on his heel. “Yeah. I did—there’s nobody alive left in there—vampires or people. But Dad—”

“Was there a pistol? An old-looking antique Colt?” John stopped where he was, then snapped the words over his shoulder.

“No—Dad—”

Fierce disappointment twisted John’s face. For a moment, he looked at the barn. Then he abruptly turned, swearing under his breath, and headed back for the truck. “Come on. We’ve got no time to lose.”

“Dad!”

When John turned back to stare at Dean, he was angry and surprised. With Sam he was usually just angry. “What, Dean?”

“I’m a—” Dean’s voice closed up and he had to swallow hard; his hands came out of his pockets to press hard against the car “—I’m a vampire. We weren’t up here to see Elkins about how to kill those—we were trying to see if he knew a way to reverse it.”

The moment Sam got where Dean was going, he stepped forward and tried to break in, but Dean had just kept talking louder and louder. Now that Dean had stopped, the world was abruptly, strangely silent; even the wind had died so the sound of leaves rustling had disappeared.

“It happened a couple of weeks ago,” Dean finally said, eyes fixed on John. However he’d gotten the color back in his skin, he wasn’t managing to hold onto it. He looked like every word had to be stabbed out of him. “I haven’t killed anyone yet. Sam—he found a spell that could change me back, but he couldn’t get it to work, and we were seeing Elkins to find out if he knew of anymore. And we—we’re already trying to track down the pistol. It hasn’t left town yet.”

John blinked once. His mouth opened slightly, then closed. He glanced from the barn to Dean, from Dean to Sam, from Sam to the barn to off into the woods, in the direction of Elkins’ house. His hand began to rise.

Sam swung away from the truck and took two long steps so he was triangulated between his father and Dean. His throat was clenched so tight it was nearly shut, and the delicate urgency of the situation was pounding in his head, needling into the backs of his eyes. “He hasn’t killed anyone, Dad. He’s still Dean—he’s not a monster. I’ve been making sure of that.”

“How?” John roughly demanded.

Dean started to answer and couldn’t finish, glancing away. So Sam took another step to get John’s eyes on him, which he met. The pounding in his head slowly ran together till it was a single excruciating outward pressure. “I’ve been feeding him. I figured out a way to do that and keep him from hurting me. And look, I know I can reverse the vampirism. I already have the spell to do it, but I can’t do it myself. So we’re—not good, but we’ve got options.”

Sam had been talking faster and faster, as if the more words he got out, the more John would believe him. But that was stupid; at first their father just looked stunned, but as he absorbed what they were saying, his temper clearly rose in his eyes. He pressed his lips together and started to look to the side. Then he turned back very quickly and lifted his foot to walk forward, towards Dean. His expression was borderline enraged. “Why didn’t you—”

“Dad, don’t!” Sam shouted, all his nerves snapping at once. His head blew up: the world exploded into brilliant, crazily dancing lights and one moment he was looking at the sky, the next at the ground. His fingers hit something that resisted, then gave so much that he was in it up to his knuckles before he could…stand? He’d fallen down?

“Dad—Sam! Jesus—Sam, stop! Put him down!” Hands grabbed Sam’s head, held it up so he at least had a sense of what was up and what was down. Dean’s white, scared face flitted in and out of the brightly colored dots. “Sam, stop. It’s Dad. It’s _Dad_. Sam. Listen to me.”

Whatever was happening was beyond Sam. He had no idea what was going on, or what he was supposedly doing, except that Dean told him to stop it and something twisted off in Sam’s head. Hopefully that was the right thing.

Something heavy thumped on the ground nearby, then groaned a little in their father’s voice. “He…you two actually thought I’d hurt you? You’re my sons. You’re all I’ve got. I just—why didn’t you call me? When did _this_ start?”

“Well, it’s a little hard to tell sometimes,” Dean said in a shaky, unexpectedly bitter voice. “We did call you. We called you when we were in Lawrence, when this really got rolling. Sam called you when I was _dying_ —and right after I’d gotten turned into a goddamn vampire. But you never called back and we just had to take care of things by ourselves.”

Things were starting to settle down. Sam could make out yellow stripes in the sky, and when he saw that they weren’t moving, he realized that it was dawn coming in. “Dean, we need to go. The time…”

“We’ll go back to the motel,” John slowly muttered. He sounded very old, so it was a minor shock to roll over and see that his hair was still mostly black. “And then you’re going to sit down and tell me everything. And Dean, Sam—I’m sorry. I should have been there. But I didn’t know—”

“Well, you will by the time I get done telling everything…I’m glad you are finally here, Dad. Come on, Sam. Can you stand up?” Dean asked.

* * *

Dizziness and nausea kept Sam from saying anything on the way back. Dean didn’t seem to be any more inclined to start a conversation. He would’ve followed Dad right into the motel room if Sam hadn’t caught him by the arm. “Where’s Luther?”

“Oh. Oh, right.” A nervous smile crossed Dean’s face. “Almost forgot. I stuck him in the trunk—figured we’d bring him up once we told Dad the other stuff. I didn’t want to give him too many shocks at once.”

“We have weapons in the trunk,” Sam disbelievingly said.

All traces of humor dropped from Dean’s face. “Well, it wasn’t like I could just drop him somewhere. Most of the weapons are in the room, and I did tie him up with some rope. Anyway, he’s not in any shape to bring his A-game.”

“Yeah, I can see that.” Sam waited for a reply to that, but Dean just made an uncomfortable shrug with his shoulders. “You _fed_ off him, didn’t you? Blood? Or—or—”

Dean stared at Sam for a moment. Then he exhaled loudly and rocked back on his heels. “For God’s sake, can we not do this now? I’ll tell you later, but first I think we’d better tell _Dad_ what’s going on.”

“Boys?” came a questioning call from the room.

“We’re coming. We just need to get something from the trunk,” Sam called back, never looking away from Dean. He stood back and waited.

After a long look, Dean opened the driver’s door again and took out his machete, which he handed to Sam. He paused till Sam was in place, then popped the trunk. “What do you want to do, warn him he’s going to be in there a while?” he said, coming around with gun in hand.

The trunk lid slowly lifted to reveal a pair of bound hands. They stayed up and visible so Luther had to have had to do some awkward twisting to get into a sitting position. He warily watched Sam. “The warning is appreciated, by the way.”

“Yeah? Well, how about this one: don’t mess with Dean again. Don’t try to trick him into anything, or you’re answering to me.” Sam reached out and slammed the trunk lid back down almost before Luther had a chance to get back into it.

“And you said I was being territorial,” Dean muttered. He was looking at Sam as cautiously as Luther had been. “Sam, you need to calm down. You lift Dad up in the air like that again and I’ll deck you.”

They walked into the motel room, but neither of them shut the door behind themselves. In Sam’s case, it was because he wasn’t quite sure which was going to be the biggest problem—the one outside or the one inside. He had a feeling Dean’s thoughts were running in parallel.

John was standing by the ice bucket, just finishing off a glass of some liquid that wasn’t the color of water; for once, Sam didn’t blame him for leaning on one of the alcoholic J’s. He looked up at them, then sighed and leaned against the dresser. “How did this happen?”

Sam glanced at Dean, who nodded. Dean cleared his throat. “We were—well, I should start with Sam. When we went back to Lawrence…”

* * *

Eventually they worked in the explanation about Luther, though Sam chose his words so that they gave the impression Luther had gotten locked up somewhere that wasn’t the car trunk. That didn’t make Dean so happy, but he didn’t contradict what Sam said. It didn’t make John happy either, but he didn’t seem angry about it. Probably because the other stuff was so much bigger in comparison.

“So have you found the gun, or figured out who has it?” John asked.

Or he was still fixated on the gun, and was willing to go much farther than Sam had figured on get it. “We were working on it,” Sam said. “Dean—”

“I took out Luther to a roadside murder they found yesterday morning that sounded related, and it was, but the tracks came back to town. Then Sam called, and that’s where we left off.” Dean got up and poked around the papers on the table, then frowned. He shuffled them around some more. “Damn it. I left the notes in the car.”

“I’ll get them.” Sam started to get up, but John lifted a hand.

“You should go get the vampire, too. I have some questions to ask him,” John said. He raised his eyebrows at whatever expression Sam currently had on his face. “You shouldn’t have left him alone anyway, no matter how secure he is.”

It was on the tip of Sam’s tongue to ask what the hell else they should have done, but he managed to hold it back. Something jingled to the right and he glanced over to see Dean holding out the keys, which he took. He still didn’t leave, though.

Irritation began to rise in John’s eyes—like usual, he didn’t understand and he didn’t try to. Surprisingly enough, Dean seemed to: he grabbed Sam by the wrist and yanked so Sam had to look at him. His face was angry undercut with a desperate plea. “Sam, Dad’s—he’s not going to whack off my head while you’re gone,” Dean told him, voice trying to be kidding about it and instead shaking with near-hysteria. “I think you’d notice when you came back.”

“I—Sam. I am not going to hurt your brother.” John sounded and looked stunned. And hurt too, which made Sam feel even worse than he’d already been feeling, but not regretful. “I can’t believe you’d think I could do something like that.”

For a moment, Sam couldn’t say anything because so many different replies were crowding into his head. He fingered the keys a few times, listening to their harsh jingle. Then he took a step back without turning around. “You shouldn’t have left, Dad. You shouldn’t have left us, and you should have called back those other times. If you really didn’t want us getting hurt—how am I supposed to believe that now? You knew the demon was coming after us-- _us_ , as a family, and you just split and left us on our own.”

“Sam—” Dean started.

“What? We’re stronger as a family—that’s what you’re always saying. And it’s true, but Dad here doesn’t seem to believe in it enough to rely on it.” Sam made a fist around the keys, watching his father. He could see the hurt grow and spread, and that pained him, but he could also see John’s impulsive first reply die right in his eyes. And that wouldn’t have happened if Dad wasn’t acknowledging some truth lay in what Sam had said, and that hurt more.

Dean sat up straight and opened his mouth, all ready to defend Dad, but then a yawn stretched his mouth even wider. He fought it, then let it happen with a bitterness that Sam almost could taste. Then Dean let out a black chuckle and dropped his head into his hand. He slanted a look at John. “He’s got a point, Dad. Sending us away can’t keep the demon from coming after us. If anything, it invites it because we’re weaker apart from each other.”

“I know he does,” John admitted, much to Sam and Dean’s surprise. He absently lifted his hand to rub at his mouth, then let it fall to rest on his knee. “We’ll talk about this later, Sam. We will. But right now you need to get that vampire somewhere where we can keep an eye on him, and we need to think of a plan for finding that pistol. That pistol’s the only way to stop the demon and get it out of our lives.”

Sam stared hard at his father, but couldn’t detect any insincerity. He finally turned around, jangling the keys. “Yes, sir.”


	5. Graveyard Shift

Sam took the Impala around the corner so it was shaded by another building, then let Luther out and into the front seat. The way he figured, twenty minutes would be enough time to convince his father that he’d actually gone somewhere.

The sunlight wasn’t directly hitting them, but nevertheless Luther was squinting and keeping himself as far back as he could. It was a little weird to see; Dean disliked walking in direct light, but he seemed to be okay when he was behind glass. He also didn’t get any kind of rash, like the long angular strip that decorated Luther’s left arm, which had swung a little too far out when he’d been trying to regain his balance.

He was…less sick-looking than before, but his stumbling and general fatigue seemed to be genuine enough. “You fed on someone, too,” Sam realized. “There’s no way Dean could’ve drained you so much otherwise.”

“I didn’t really feed. She basically volunteered herself. I didn’t even bite—it was her time of the month.” Luther’s gaze slid up and down the machete leaning besides Sam. He kept rubbing at his blistered arm, and hard enough so that he was pulling up some of it. When he got enough, he stuck his thumbnail beneath the edge and started slicing it off.

Sam suppressed his disgust and stared out through the windshield. “I can’t believe Dean would let you do that.”

“He didn’t. She came up and I got outside before he could do anything, and then he had to wait till I was finished so he wouldn’t scare her. But by then, he was all worked up and he grabbed _me_. Can I roll down the window?”

The last one threw Sam for a second. He glanced back at Luther, but the request seemed to be serious enough, so he nodded. “And you had nothing to do with that either.”

“Considering I didn’t _know_ vampires could feed like that…” After flicking his fingers clean outside, Luther quickly pulled in his hand. He examined it—slight pink flush, but not quite a rash—then probed at the raw scrapes he’d made on his arm. A few drops of blood came up and he licked them off to reveal new skin. “What is he?”

Only five minutes had passed and Sam was already eying the key in the ignition. He wasn’t an idiot. Usually Dean got sent to run the errands, if only one of them had to go, but this time it’d been him. He didn’t think it’d been because Dad was going to kill or otherwise do something to Dean—he could barely believe that thought had crossed his mind in the first place now—but he could believe that Dean and Dad were discussing what they thought was his problem.

He wished he’d seen exactly what he’d done to Dad. Dean had said he’d lifted John off the ground, but…there must have been something else, too. The way Dean had told him to stop had been too panicked for just that.

“Do I get to know why we’re sitting out here?” Luther asked.

“Dad’s getting ready to talk to you. We’re going back in a few minutes.” It was a vague explanation, and obviously Luther wasn’t buying all of it, but Sam didn’t really care. He did have a problem. He’d been ready to do something to Dad, and even if it’d been in defense of Dean, it’d seemed…way too easy. Just like shoving the cabinet away from the door at Max’s house had been easy while he’d been doing it.

The other seat creaked so Sam clasped his fingers around the machete handle, but it turned out to just be Luther stretching out his legs. “Can I know his name?”

And Max had turned against his own family, though they’d given him plenty of cause and Dad, however frustrating he was, had never, ever been that bad. But Sam had reacted as if…that was because he didn’t have a real handle on these damn powers, no matter what he’d said to Dean. It wasn’t any good to just try and not use them, because they seemed to just pop up—whenever he was near something connected to the demon. Who were they up against now, and where were they?

“Sam?”

After a moment, Sam remembered what was going on and frowned. “John Winchester. Why?”

“Wondering if I’ve heard of him before,” Luther said. He was staring hard at Sam, but not with any of that—not in the way Dean had been thinking. He just looked like someone trying to play for slack.

“If you’re thinking of ways to get around him, you’re wasting your time. Just like with Dean,” Sam replied. He nearly rolled his eyes at Luther’s raised eyebrow. “I’ve seen him hold back when he’s been even hungrier. You did something to set him off, and if you do it again—”

Luther restlessly moved around in the seat, sliding his hands up and down his exposed forearms. He transferred his gaze to outside, and appeared to be having a hard time not snapping at Sam. “I’m asking questions because I don’t really know what’s going on and I’ve been around a while. I’m confused and worried—you know what that’s like, don’t you?”

“Oh, don’t—” Sam almost lifted his hand to thump against the wheel before he remembered the machete “—look. Luther. I’m not kidding when I say you’ll answer for anything that happens to Dean. Because I could _look_ at you and I’d know how you work and I could take you apart and put you back together if I wanted.”

Then Sam stilled and stared at the faint reflection of himself in the windshield. It was still him, but that—that hadn’t really sounded like him. And he’d just spit out a bunch of bullshit, because when he looked at Luther, he saw a broad-shouldered, extremely pale man…bullshit except that deep down, something whispered to Sam that he hadn’t tried to do it yet and he didn’t really know till he did try.

Luther was staring back again, and he wasn’t saying what he saw, but for a moment he almost looked terrified. Then he grimaced and whipped around. A second later, he had both hands on the door and was pushing his head out of the window so that Sam actually started to lift the sword.

A sudden, vicious pain slashed across the backs of Sam’s eyes, then drove down into his sinuses. He winced, tightened his grip on the machete. Then he forced himself to pay attention to Luther.

Who thankfully had not been trying to dive out of the car and had just jerked back in, scrubbing hard at the side of his face. Sam glimpsed some raw red patches, looking exactly like a two-alarm sunburn, beneath Luther’s fingers. “He was somewhere out there,” Luther rasped. “I could smell Kate on him.”

“Him?” Sam asked. Then he jumped as his cell rang. He pulled it out and flipped it open. “Hello?”

*Sam? Where the hell are you?* Dean asked. *It shouldn’t take this long.*

A check at the clock told Sam it’d been closer to forty minutes than twenty. Shit. “Sorry. He’s heavy—I had to practically carry him to the car.”

Luther had his head down and his hands pressed to the sides of his face, mostly obscuring it, but his mouth was still visible. His lips curled slightly upwards, then parted in a dry, ironic chuckle. “Your whole family’s not too good with telling the—never mind. He’s gone. But the bastard was watching us.”

“We’ll be there in a couple of minutes,” Sam told Dean.

* * *

As soon as they showed up, Sam mentioned the weird incident to John and Dean. Much to his surprise, John hadn’t immediately jumped up to go track down the bastard, but instead had had them chain up Luther. Then he’d told Dean to go take a look and see if a trail could be picked up. He’d finally gotten startled out of his mental one-track when Sam had also stood up.

“Dean gets sleepy during the daytime. It’s nothing he can help,” Sam awkwardly said. “I think I’d better go with him.”

There probably would’ve been an objection from Dean if he hadn’t been so busy muffling a yawn in his arm. He coughed on the end of it, then muttered nastily under his breath and stalked out. After a moment, John nodded.

The area around the motel was mostly clear, consisting of roads and clusters of other motels, bars and 7-11-type stores, so looking didn’t take long. “And here I thought you were all protective of Lestat back there,” Dean said, sniffing deeply. He prodded aside the grass at the base of a road sign, then irritably jerked his shoulders as he walked on: nothing. “Don’t care so much if Dad kills him now?”

“Yeah, well, surprisingly enough, I’m more worried about you.” It’d been a taunt, Sam decided. He wasn’t picking up anything either, and as strong as the earlier feeling had been, they should’ve found something if it’d been simple spying. They’d just been mocking Sam and his family. “Are you feeling all right?”

“Aside from worrying about my brother jacking my dad a good fifteen feet into the air because he thought Dad was going to _kill_ me—I’m good. Real good.” Dean turned around. They were standing on top of a shallow hillock, which nevertheless was tall enough for them to see to where the woods started again. It was pretty obvious by now that they weren’t going to find a trail unless they went in there, and Dean seemed about as interested in doing that without Dad as Sam did.

Sam stared at their motel, at the rough logs that made up the “rustic” walls, at the tacky neon sign that was only half-working. He’d been in so many other places like it that he’d basically stopped noticing the details, but now he saw them all again, as if he were that scared, confused, lonely kid trying to distract himself again. “I didn’t—Dean, I really didn’t know what I was doing. I was scared for you.”

“Scared that Dad was going to kill me,” Dean muttered.

“What? _You_ wanted me to kill you—and who taught us that monsters are that evil? Don’t tell me that that thought never crossed your mind. Dean, I love the man, but I’m not going to pretend he’s perfectly understanding of everything, and especially not of anything to do with monsters.” For a moment, Sam thought about law school. When he understood—completely—why, he had to bite on his lip to keep from letting out a hysterical laugh. “I wasn’t thinking about killing Dad. I was just thinking he had to get away from you.”

Dean sighed and rubbed at the side of his mouth a few times. Then he shrugged hard, pushing his coat-collar higher up, and stepped into the shade of a large shrub. “I know you wouldn’t think about that. But if things are as out of control as you say, then you might do it by accident. Just like if I go too long without feeding, or if you don’t have that angelica at the right moment—”

“Is that why I got sent out of the room? Were you filling Dad in on why I need to get a lobotomy done on the mutant part of my brain?” Sam snapped.

He winced as soon as he’d said it. That had been going a little too far. He’d been doing that often enough lately for it to qualify as a bad habit.

“We already cleaned out the asylum, didn’t we?” Dean replied in a tense rasp.

Sam turned so he could gaze towards the town. His head wasn’t exactly hurting, but it was on the verge of it and he thought it was the strength of the sunlight hitting his head on top of his tiredness, so he stepped back into the shadow with Dean. “Listen, when you fed on Luther—”

“There was this drunken girl and she had her period, and I didn’t take enough from you before. She got worked up and I—Jesus, I don’t know how I drove out of town. It was so damned _strong_.” Dean stared at the ground, remembering and looking sick about the memory. Once in a while his voice drifted off, as if he were savoring, but then he’d rein himself in with a visible jerk. He briefly smiled. “Luther messed up there. I think he was counting on it to throw me off so he could steal the car or whatever, but I got him off-guard and drained him first.”

So Luther had lied—he’d told a skewed version, anyway. Irritation momentarily flared up in Sam, but then he dismissed it. He’d pretty much expected that anyway, and it wasn’t the most important matter on hand. “Dean…when you fed…did it feel different?”

“Different?” Dean asked. He blinked once in confusion, then a couple more times in exhaustion. “Well, it wasn’t you. Look, Sam. I’m a goddamn vampire. Vampires like to eat. So yeah, I liked it. I liked it and now I would like to rip out the part of me that liked it.”

“That wasn’t what I meant. He’s not—he can’t do this telekinetic and precog crap. He doesn’t have whatever makes me look so good to demons, apparently. I was wondering if that affected the—the taste, or whatever.” Sam started out snapping, but quickly ended up talking in a low, uncomfortable whisper, even though no one else was remotely near them. Well, it was definitely an uncomfortable subject. “Vampires and sorcerers are connected in a lot of the old central European folklore—sometimes it’s hard to tell which a story is about.”

He didn’t want to say much else, both because the rest was more him guessing in the dark than any solid research and because he didn’t want to scare Dean into refusing to feed off him again. It had crossed Sam’s mind to suggest Dean feed off Luther, but that didn’t even have practicality going for it since Luther would have to keep eating to maintain himself, and he couldn’t be counted on to not kill people in doing it.

It was a while before Dean answered, and not because he was stalling, but because he seemed to be taking Sam seriously and thinking hard about it first. Then he abruptly pulled up his coat-collar and started down the hillock. “Come on. We aren’t going to find anything—we’re probably just going to have to wait for them to come to us.”

Sam opened his mouth, then closed it. He wasn’t going to let the point drop, but he could wait a few hours before he brought it up again. So much had gone on in the past couple hours that even he was ready to let the tension slack off some.

“You were harder to leave off of,” Dean abruptly said. He didn’t look at Sam. His shoulders hunched up as if he were cold and he dropped his head, making his shadow shrink from the sun.

* * *

When they got back to the motel room, Luther was still in one piece, more or less. He had a fresh cut on the left side of his jaw, but otherwise he and John apparently had had a pretty calm conversation. And a pretty useless one, if the frustrated expression on Dad’s face was anything to go by.

Dean sat down on the free bed and made a valiant effort to stay awake for about five seconds before he finally laid back. The second his head hit the mattress, he was out.

“Does he always do that?” John asked, regarding Dean with a strange mixture of parental affection and discomfort. “Since—”

Since he got turned into a vampire and the world flipped on its head. Sam poured himself a glass of water and started to reach for their medicine bag before he remembered. He glanced at his comatose brother, then gave up on the idea of aspirin. It wasn’t likely that Dean had remembered to get any more. “He’s okay before noon. Sleepy, but fine. After that, I have to drive.”

“Hmm.” John picked up one of his bags, dug out a plastic bottle and tossed it to Sam. Then he turned to Luther.

The bottle was so old it was closer to the color of sand than its original white—still visible in the screws of the top—and had long since lost its label. Inside it was a jumble of pills and gel caps and capsules, which made Sam stop for a second and wonder how many times his dad might’ve poured out a couple in the dark, tired and in pain, and maybe swallowed the wrong ones. Then he shook his head and dug out the aspirin while John hauled Luther into the bathroom.

“Sam.”

“Thanks for the pills. I guess Dean told you about the headaches,” Sam said, setting down his glass. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth.

“Sam, I don’t hunt monsters because I think I’m going to get every last one. I’m not going after this demon because I heard some call from God.” Usually John just stuck to the curt orders, but once in a while he went into defensive dogmatic mode. This sounded like another one of those times. But then Sam turned around, and he didn’t see a drill sergeant or a lecturer. He saw a haggard, worried man who was pulling the sheets up over Dean. “I hunt them because they hurt my family, and I never want that to happen to another family if I can help it. And more importantly, because I’m terrified they’ll come back to finish the job on us.”

John paused, then twitched the blankets down and stuck his hand under Dean. He pulled at something that didn’t want to come, and finally ended up lifting Dean a few inches with his other hand. After tossing the sheathed hunting knife onto the side-table, he folded the sheets back over Dean, who muttered and sprawled more comfortably.

“Still hogs the mattress,” John snorted, looking down. Then he returned his gaze to Sam. “I never told you this, but the day Dean was born, I opened up a bank account and I put a hundred dollars in it. Did that every month afterward. And I started one for you, too. It was supposed to be a college fund. I never, ever wanted you two to have this kind of life, but…that demon changed everything. And what matters more to me now is that you two don’t get hurt.”

“I know. I—I’m sorry I lifted you up, or whatever I did.” Sam sat down in one of the chairs. He must’ve moved too quickly, or something like that, because his head briefly spun and a roaring deafened his ears. But the dizzy spell soon passed, and he chalked it up to not having the time to eat yet. “But everything you told me about vampires made it sound like they turn into somebody else, like they’re not that person anymore. And that’s not true.”

“Everything I ever told you about vampires I heard secondhand, and I told you that, too. I never had run into a vampire myself till now.” Those words bit, but John made a visible effort to ease off before he continued. “You two are my sons—all I’ve got left. I’m always going to do everything I can to help you, no matter what the situation.”

Sam glanced up at his father.

“I thought the demon would stick with me, since I was the one tracking it. And I know how dangerous our work is, but I thought—I still do think—that the demon is the biggest evil in it. I try to make the best decision I can, Sam, but sometimes you’ve got two bad choices and you have to figure out which one’ll bleed you less,” John said. He sat down on the edge of the bed Dean was on and folded his hands between his knees, looking first at them and then at the window. This place had blinds, not curtains, and though Sam had pulled them as tightly shut as possible, some light still came through.

Dean hissed in his sleep and flopped around so his arm fell in a thin beam of light. His fingers instantly curled up into a tight fist and he kept moving, but he wasn’t aware enough to know what was bothering him. For a long second, John watched that; Sam was on the point of getting up when John hesitantly poked Dean’s arm out of the way.

“Tell me about this spell you have that’ll cure Dean,” John finally continued.

“It’s pretty complicated—I had to edit a couple spells together to come up with it. And you can’t have just anybody do it. I could do it—I was going to do it, but we told you what happened then. Dean won’t let me try again.” Well, they’d told him about Meg. Even Dean hadn’t been able to go anywhere near talking about the…the _sex_ , Sam snarled at himself…and Sam certainly wasn’t going to if he didn’t have to. Things were bad enough, and adding that to Dad’s plate would just be gratuitous. “Look, these—these things I can do. I could really mess up with them. I agree with Dean there. But I don’t think just pretending I don’t have them is going to work, either. I keep doing that and they might pop out again and next time I might not—”

John held up his hand. “Did you know what you were doing? Back in the field.”

All the confusion and strangeness and terror of that moment came back to Sam; he sucked in his breath. It came out raggedly a few seconds later. “No. Not until afterward. Dad—I can’t make it go away. I can’t even always tell when it’s coming. And I don’t want to hurt anyone with it. Not Dean, not you—not anyone.”

The silence stretched out in the room, long and thin and humming so Sam wanted to press his hands over his ears. The aspirin was finally beginning to unwind the painfully knotted tension inside of his head, and he didn’t want to waste its effects.

“One thing at a time,” John finally said. “Dean says you only do it when you’re extremely upset. So we’ll plan carefully, and get that gun back so we don’t have to worry so much about the demon. Then I’ll start calling around. Someone’s got to know something that’ll help you and Dean.”

“Yeah,” Sam muttered. He suddenly felt very, very tired himself, and he would’ve taken a nap himself if one last thing hadn’t occurred to him. “Dad? What happened to those bank accounts?”

John had been standing up, but now he paused to look at Sam with one hand still on the bed. A slight smile quirked his mouth: it wasn’t entirely joking, grim or helplessly ironic. “Cashed them out to buy my first set of silver bullets. Figured those would be a better way to protect your future.”

After a moment, Sam did laugh. It just was a perfect symbol of how their lives had gotten skewed by monsters.

* * *

Nine at night. Dean had woken up around seven, just when a fresh local murder involving a bloodless corpse had popped up on the laptop. After dropping off Sam’s share of dinner, he and John had gone to check out the crime scene, leaving Sam on vampire-watching duty.

Luther was chained to the toilet, so in the end, Sam set himself up in the bathroom doorway with his laptop, notes on vampirism folklore, machete, and leftovers. He was beginning to think the drama was finally over for the day when Luther spoke up. “What’s the verdict on our opponents?”

“‘Our’?” For once, both Sam and Sam’s inner Dean-voice were in accord. “Hey, you haven’t exactly offered any concrete help yet that I know of.”

Metal clanked so Sam reached for the machete, but it was just Luther trying to get comfortable. He couldn’t lean back unless he wanted to cut off the circulation to his arms, which were manacled behind him, and he didn’t have enough slack to really lean forward, so he was constantly shifting. It was plainly wearing him out. “I guess your dad and Dean didn’t mention it.”

“Dean mentioned something about you coming up against the demon before, but since the demon was still around to kill my mom and girlfriend, you clearly didn’t hurt it much,” Sam mumbled through a half-mouthful of food. Then he startled up and caught a bit of guacamole just before it would’ve hit the keyboard.

“Girlfriend? It came after you when you were older?” Luther sounded a bit surprised at that, which was odd for him.

Sam wiped off his hands and mouth on a napkin, then clicked shut one window. He pulled up another that had looked useful and squinted at the image of a badly-decayed parchment, trying to read the Latin. “Almost a year ago.”

A couple minutes went by without anything else from Luther. It was an obvious tactic—hell, it was one Sam regularly used to get Dean to listen to him—but it worked. After realizing he’d been trying to translate the same sentence for the whole time, Sam gave up on that and closed the laptop.

“It always sticks to babies. Six-month-olds, or around that. We thought it was because they were easier to take,” Luther said.

“‘We’?” Yeah, it was conversational bait, but Sam was taking it. There was another interesting detail he’d noticed that he didn’t think was entirely intentional on Luther’s part: the guy was getting a faint accent. Normally he sounded like an ironed-out, homogenized Midwesterner, but now he was drawling a little.

He also didn’t usually look like he was reluctant to talk about something. That could be a fake-out as well, but it wasn’t one he’d tried before so either he knew something about breaking pattern or it was genuine. The odds for either were pretty good. “Before I was turned, I hunted for a while, like you and your family. A friend of mine went after this demon—that’s how I happened to see the Colt pistol before.”

Sam raised his eyebrows and picked up his carton of food so he could scoop up some refried beans. “And the irony of that didn’t kill you.”

“Well, I had a couple kids who were years away from being grown, and there was so much fighting going on in the eighteen-thirties that hiding the bodies wasn’t a problem,” Luther coolly retorted. He glanced down to move his feet in an effort to stretch his muscles, but the chains didn’t let him go too far. “Look, Sam. I do have a personal agenda—I want Kate back. And the longer she’s with whatever bastard the demon’s got doing the work around here, the worse she’s going to come out of it. Can you blame me for being antsy?”

“Does the demon have a name? It just—gets so awkward calling it ‘the demon’ all the time.” The beans had congealed into a mushy, clammy mess and seriously tempted Sam into throwing them back up. Instead he moved onto the enchilada remains, which had survived better.

Luther paused in his link-rattling, then looked at Sam the way Dean or Dad did whenever he was questioning one of their monster-killing methods. All right, Sam did believe the bit about Luther being a hunter, because that look was hard to fake if one hadn’t ever been in the field. “You don’t go around saying a demon’s name. Sometimes that’s all it takes to call the damn thing up.”

“Sorry,” Sam said, barely keeping himself civil. He wiped off his hands again, then flipped up his laptop to go back to work. “So why is it hanging around? If I were it and I had just gotten hold of the one thing that could stop me, I’d be out of town the same day.”

“I’m not a demon, so I couldn’t be sure—” Luther was showing he could flash some sarcasm, too “—but maybe it’s staying to see if it could pick up a bonus. Demons aren’t ideal beings. They’ve got drawbacks, the biggest one being the lack of a body while they’re on earth. They can cover that with possession, but people do die, so they have to keep finding new ones.”

It took a moment for Sam to get where Luther was going with that one, and when he got it, he felt a strange stab of surprise that it’d taken him so long. He’d been guessing at something near that, but hadn’t wanted to consciously, seriously think about it. “You’re not a demon?”

Luther started, then exhaled in irritation. “I’m the same man I was before I just happened to swallow some backsplash in the middle of killing a vampire.”

“Except you kill people. You tried to get Dean too hungry to think, and then you tried to kill him,” Sam pointedly remarked. He tapped his fingers on the edge of the computer as he waited for it to come out of sleep-mode.

“I tried—” For a couple seconds, it seemed like Luther was going to try and excuse himself. But then he sighed and nodded. “I try to survive. Maybe you think I should’ve killed myself…well, have you ever tried that? Looked at a big long blade and thought about it? Suicide’s not like switching to a new weapon. It’s not easy.”

Sam stopped tapping his fingers and pressed them hard against the laptop casing till he could faintly feel the whirring of the fan inside. “You had _cages_ back there.”

“I used to pen up cattle and hens for the lean winters, back when I had to live on _them_. I had cages because I’m careful and I don’t want to kill every day, stir up that many missing persons reports. If you let me go right now, or if I got out, I wouldn’t kill you, and you know why? Because I don’t want your father and your brother having that much more reason to come hunt me down. That’s why I’m almost two hundred years old,” Luther snapped. He jerked so hard at the chains that the toilet actually creaked and pieces of porcelain chipped off.

He stopped once Sam had a machete pricking his Adam’s apple. Luther looked down at the blade, then up at Sam. His shoulders had been pulled up with the effort of wrenching the chains, but now they slumped as he sighed. The undertone of his skin was a sick grey.

Once he was sure Luther wasn’t going to try anything else, Sam lowered the blade and sat back on his heels. He turned the laptop around to make sure he hadn’t broken anything by getting up so quickly. “Why make more vampires? You have to get them fed, and that’s going to attract more attention.”

“For the company,” Luther tiredly said in a low tone. He half-closed his eyes and leaned back as much as he could. “I don’t know about you, but having someone with you gets you through a lot more than you would by yourself.”

Sam wasn’t going to dispute that point, especially after the events of the last year. If he hadn’t been around, Dean would have been dead a month ago, and if Dean hadn’t been around, Sam’s powers might have gotten someone killed by now.

The phone suddenly rang, startling Sam so his arm bumped Luther’s leg. He shifted back and kept a tight grip on the machete as he dug out the phone. Luther noticed and looked grimly amused. “I don’t have that much slack,” he said.

They were close enough so that Sam felt the faintest trace of Luther’s breath. He put the phone to his ear as he started to move back to safer ground. “Hello?”

*Hi, Sam,* said a smoky female voice.


	6. The Quick and the Dead

For one long, horrible moment, Sam thought it was Meg. Then his mind re-engaged and he realized the voice was too low, too laidback. “Who is this?”

*Kate.*

Sam instantly looked at Luther, who was already sitting straight up with eyes fixed on the phone. The chains hadn’t made any noise because they were all stretched out as far as they’d go. The links almost looked as if they were vibrating under the strain; just in case, Sam held onto the machete. “Who?”

*Oh, that’s right.* Coy laugh. There was another noise in the background, some kind of low grating sound. *We haven’t met yet. I’m Luther’s girl. I believe I’ve got something you want, and you’ve got something I want.*

“Yeah?” To Sam’s ear, her taunting tone was a little off. The skin on the back of his neck was prickling to the point where he desperately wanted to peek out the bathroom window, but he wasn’t going to risk crossing in front of Luther. It didn’t help when the wind picked up outside, making tree branches rattle and whistling through the cracks. “Don’t you mean something that you and the guy holding a gun to your head want?”

Another giggle, but beneath that was a low hiss that Sam almost heard as words. *Guns don’t work on vampires, Sam. We’re the biggest, baddest things out there—you don’t think I was going to sit on my ass and watch some desperado torch my family while you hunters took my mate, did you?*

Someone else was there and feeding her the lines, Sam thought. He glanced at Luther again, but Luther hadn’t moved, his face a mask of concentration. If Kate really had been free, Luther might’ve been able to keep his deadpan going, but he wouldn’t have looked so tense.

Dad and Dean were still out. If they had gotten into trouble, that would’ve come up by now, so they had to be fine. But if Sam showed that he knew it was a trick, then the demon or whoever was acting for the demon might be frustrated enough to go out looking and stumble across them. Not to mention there was the possibility of more than one trick being pulled here: it might be natural for Kate to be asking for Luther back, but he couldn’t be what the demon really wanted. Maybe.

“My mistake,” Sam finally said in a tense voice. “So what are you suggesting?”

*A trade. Tomorrow night, midnight. By my old home. Only one of you show up with Luther.*

The wind outside abruptly dropped. After a second, Sam…tried to feel if there was anyone nearby, but no headache sprang up. “And if I think this is a bad idea?”

*Well, I never liked fire before, but now it makes me…crazy. Makes me want to throw something on it, something like an old fancy pistol. I think it’d melt down into some nice silver jewelry for me,* Kate said.

The line went dead after that. Sam took the cell down and stared at it, then thumbed for the number, but all he got was a “(no number)” message. Clever. Frustrating.

“He’s still got her. She doesn’t sound exactly right,” Luther said in an urgent tone. He finally shifted around, letting the chains slacken. A wince crossed his face and his arms started moving slowly up and down: he was rubbing at his wrists.

“But why’s the demon going through all this trouble for you? If it—if it really was to get at me, then why not say I have to be the one to bring you?” In any case, Dad would say they’d have to check it out. Sam started flipping through his contacts list, but paused before he hit the ‘Call’ button. Then he snorted and pressed it; yeah, he could try Dad’s number now and have a good chance that Dad would pick up, but he was used to calling Dean. And he knew Dean would pick up, no matter what was going on.

Luther shrugged. “That’d pretty much give things away. And it doesn’t matter which of you went—if it was you, that makes it easy. If it was your father or your brother, then that just turns it into a two-step trap.”

He had a good point there. Meg had already tried to get at Sam through Dean…but Sam was somehow disinclined to completely trust Luther. “You really were a hunter,” Sam said as he dialed. He put the cell back up to his ear, then frowned as he thought of something. “What happened to your kids?”

For a second, Sam wasn’t sure if Luther was going to try and wrench up the toilet or tell Sam to get the hell out. Then Luther got hold of himself and slumped back to stare at the blinds over the window. “My wife was already dead, so I talked some relatives into moving out and taking over things. Took them a year to get out to the ranch. I have no idea what happened to my sons after that; I left.”

“Weren’t so okay with the vampire life-style back then, huh.” After six rings, Dean’s voicemail message kicked in and Sam ended the call. He sighed and counted to fifteen, then tried again. He might’ve caught Dean inside a building or in one of the many cellular blind spots out here.

“They were children. They weren’t old enough to make the kind of decisions they’d have had to if I stayed. And then afterward…no father wants their kids to have to deal with this sort of thing,” Luther said, voice getting more and more full of anger. By the time he was done, his words were practically singing in rage. He abruptly jerked at his feet, then flinched and settled just as Sam was raising the machete. “I haven’t thought about them in years.”

Sam stared, then suppressed a curse as Dean finally picked up, only to have the call cut off before he’d even said anything. “Why not?”

“Because I like my sanity. Look, I get why you’d call me a monster. But hunters like you, and like I was, are monsters to the monsters. And you think about that stuff too hard and your mind gets tied up and the next thing you know, something’s got you down and gutted.” Luther shut his mouth so hard on the last word that his teeth clicked. He didn’t look like he was planning on continuing.

Just when Sam was dialing for the third time, Dean called back. After filling him and then Dad in, Sam started tidying up the food cartons and notes. He picked up one sheet on which he’d sketched a couple different magic circles, then paused. “I could turn you back,” he said slowly, in a very low voice. “Back into a human.”

It took a moment for Luther to answer, and when he did, his voice was just as soft and deliberate as Sam’s was. “I’m sure you could. But I’ve been a vampire for much longer than I was a person, and I’ve done things I can tolerate in a vampire but not in a person. There’s no such thing as a clean slate, no matter how many magic spells you pull out of your hat.”

“I—” Sam started. Then he stopped himself and worked on clearing out the doorway. He didn’t know why he was still arguing anyway. If it had been an actual discussion, he’d have to bring up walking out on Dad and Dean for college, and he was tired of having to explain himself over that.

Of course, it wasn’t a real discussion. It was him being baited by a very intelligent and quick-witted vampire, and it was about time he stopped. He picked up his laptop and carried it out into the next room to put it away.

Sam absently glanced back into the bathroom and saw Luther staring back in an odd way, like he wanted to say something, only he couldn’t choose the right tone for it. At any rate, it never happened; Luther leaned out of direct sight wearing an expression that was changing to uneasy consideration, and Sam shrugged it off.

* * *

Dean hadn’t really been thrilled at the idea of leaving Sam to pull the first guarding shift, but he hadn’t been able to think of a way to explain why to Dad, and since he wasn’t Sam, he couldn’t question Dad’s calls without giving a damn good reason for it.

Actually, he could think of ways to explain it, but none that didn’t involve talking about how vampirism changed sex and sexual attraction. Neither vampirism nor sex was a subject Dean wanted to discuss in great detail with his father unless he absolutely had to, and the two of them combined…

Anyway, he was feeling a little more sure that Sam’s sympathetic tendencies wouldn’t lead him into dropping his guard around Luther. He hadn’t even mentioned exactly how he and Luther had ended up in a feeding-friendly situation, but Sam had guessed most of it and had looked ready to rip out Luther’s spine for it.

Even so, Dean had his machete close at hand when he walked into the motel room. “Sam?”

“Hey, Dean.” Sam materialized out from the blind spot behind the door and thus nearly got his head chopped off. He startled back, then gave Dean a strange look. “Something happen? Why are you so jumpy?”

“Not from anything we found. It’s dead quiet out there,” Dad said, coming in after Dean. He dropped their bags in the corner, then glanced towards the bathroom.

Following that look, Sam shrugged. “Quiet there, too. He got a little upset when we figured out it was a bluff, but now he’s not saying anything.”

“Well, he’s going to see his girlfriend again any way he looks at it, so he’d better be happy.” Dean watched Sam very carefully, especially when he was moving around Dad, picking up sheets of notes from here and there, but the two of them looked all right.

Relatively speaking. If one defined ‘all right’ as slightly edgy and awkward, with the occasional glance of suppressed confused frustration, then they were fine. Sam and Dad were at least back to the usual state of things between each other, and not apt to snap each other’s heads off. Whatever they’d said while Dean had been sleeping seemed to have cleared things up.

“I thought things over on the way back,” Dad abruptly started. “The plan’s still the same, but now I don’t think it’d be a good idea for Dean to be the one meeting them. He’s got triggers he can’t help, like that deal with falling asleep every afternoon. I’ll do it.”

Sam stopped where he was, hunched over the laptop taking down some more notes. A long, tense silence wound up between him and Dad; Dean silently moaned to himself. Then Sam turned around. “Dad. It’ll be at night, and Dean’s going to eat first. He’ll be fine—anyway, he’s a lot faster and stronger, and since we can’t get any closer than a hundred yards—”

“If what you two say is true, they’re responsible for making Dean a vampire. And they aren’t dumb. They’ll be planning ways to use that against him, and since none of us know much about vampires, then we can’t possibly guess all the ways—”

“They know how to push your buttons, too. Or don’t you remember how they got you to leave us _again_ so they could come attack us later—”

“Hey!” Dean shouted, throwing up his arms. He brought them down almost immediately to press against his temples. If this was the kind of headache Sam kept getting, then Dean was taking back all his teasing about crankiness to remold it into bitching about Sam and Dad’s goddamn headbutting. “Do I get a say in this? Or are we even going to ask the other, I’m-old-and-I-know-everything vampire around here?”

Sam and Dad turned to look at Dean with the same barely-restrained expression of enraged annoyance at the interruption. Struggling beneath that were their senses of practicality. Those eventually won out, but not before they both snorted and made a point of stalking over to the bathroom. Dean didn’t know whether to roll his eyes or just scream. Honestly, when he had to start being the voice-of-reason referee…he just wanted to videotape them sometime and show Sam, at least, that there were some family traditions that just didn’t get shaken off.

In the end, Dean followed after, arriving just in time for Luther to flash him a sarcastic half-smile. “I like how you made your point.”

“Shut up.” Wait, that wouldn’t work; Dean pressed his forehead against the door-frame. “On second thought, talk. But say something useful.”

“Your dad’s right,” Luther said.

Sam’s eyes narrowed, then widened. His mouth opened a little, though he managed to keep from outright gaping. Dad was more stone-faced, but he was surprised as well, and he patently didn’t like it.

“It can’t be Sam, since he’s who the demon is trying to get at. And it can’t be Dean, since if he got into trouble, Sam might lose control of himself and make things worse in trying to help.” Luther twisted his arms so his hands were turned as far out as they could go, then untwisted him with a grimace. He probably had some wicked cramps built up in his muscles. Good, since that’d keep him from trying anything at the last moment. “Your dad might have his own flaws,” he said, looking up at Sam, “But they’re not quite as dramatic. And if they’re you and Dean, then having you cover him is a reasonably good way of dealing with that.”

Dad pointedly cleared his throat. Throughout Luther’s whole analysis, Dad’s face had been getting stormier and stormier, and now…it was a wonder Luther wasn’t self-incinerating. Maybe the Winchesters didn’t always agree among themselves, but that didn’t mean they were going to take criticism from smug outsiders. “The question was whether they’d be able to manipulate Dean’s reactions.”

The trace of amusement still remaining on Luther’s face completely disappeared. He gazed thoughtfully—working hard at that, Dean thought—at Dad for a long couple of seconds before he finally answered in a flat tone. “I love Kate, but she’s no actress. And your son can tell you they made her sound pretty convincing. There’s your answer.”

Luther was just trying to cover up his frustration and worry again, Dean decided. He got that same expression every time Kate came up.

Dad grunted to himself and turned around to look meaningfully at Sam, who glowered back but didn’t say a word. Eventually Sam glanced away, at which point Dad stomped off, probably to get all his weapons cleaned and prepped.

That was what Dean should’ve been doing as well, considering they didn’t know if whoever they were meeting was what Meg had been, and if they could therefore be killed in the same way. Anyway, Dean didn’t even know how Sam had killed Meg. _Sam_ didn’t know how Sam had killed Meg—he didn’t remember anything except he’d pulled some spell out of his ass, then had shoved a crowbar through her heart.

Dean was babbling to himself, and about really morbid subjects to boot, just to have an excuse for not moving without actually tackling the problem. He gave himself a mental kick in the head. “Sam?”

“I still don’t like it,” Sam said.

“Because you think it won’t work or because you’re worried about your dad getting that close?” Luther asked. He bore up pretty well beneath two glares. Way too well—for someone whose true bloodsucking love was in mortal danger and who was about to get played as a pawn in a two-sided bluff that didn’t guarantee any happy reunion, he was—he was always too goddamn calm. “You could think about what’s best for your dad: risking his life, or risking yours or Dean’s and worrying to death about it.”

Sam settled back on his heels, looking a little surprised. He actually mulled that over before answering. “Yeah, I could. Since I’m old enough and my father’s still around.”

That was a weird thing to say, but it obviously meant something to Luther: his face tightened and his lips flattened into a thin line. He started to reply, but Dean got in first, grabbing Sam by the arm. “And you could think about keeping out of it, since it’s not your family. Sam. We have work to do.”

Dean yanked the bathroom door shut behind them, then winced at the ear-splitting bang. A few seconds later, someone in the room to the left loudly banged back. They were probably cursing too, but since Dean couldn’t hear them, they couldn’t hear what was going on in and that wasn’t a problem. At least.

“I just think—” Sam glanced at Dean, then at the open front door through which Dad had just walked. “Yeah, I’m worried about Dad. But I was worried about you and I was…well, as okay as anyone can be about having you do it. I have this bad feeling…”

“It’s not exactly an ideal situation. Look, Sam, I’d rather be the one doing it, too. But Dad’s been hunting this thing longer, so maybe he knows something we don’t about it.” Of course, Sam started to say something about how would they know since Dad never got them up-to-date and Dean had to jerk his hand through the air to get Sam’s attention again. He picked up a bag and rummaged around till he came up with a cleaning brush. “And Luther actually agrees with Dad. What does that tell you?”

Sam sighed and sat down on one of the beds, holding out his hand. He took the rock salt and tools Dean gave him and started making up cartridges. “That he also knows something we don’t, and he’s trying to turn this into a Mexican standoff?” he whispered.

“Probably. But he’s mostly thinking about getting to his girlfriend, and for that, he needs for the trade to not get messed up in the first couple of seconds.” Dean took a seat and broke out his shotgun for cleaning. “Anyway, I think he talks bigger than he knows. I mean, he ran from this thing. He would’ve run from Elkins, who might’ve taught Dad but who had to be feeling the arthritis by now. He does nothing but run—what the hell does he really know?”

A moment later, Dean lifted his head and frowned. He could have sworn Sam had said something in reply, but Sam was busy working. When he noticed Dean staring and looked up, he seemed puzzled. So Dean let it go.

* * *

“Nothing and no one’s around yet,” Dean said, pushing through the brush. The thin branches crackled and snapped like a bunch of miniature firecrackers. “Goddamn it. Well, I didn’t hear anything moving nearby either, so I guess we know for sure.”

Sam and Dad stood in front of the truck’s armory chest, doing some last-minute weaponry shuffling. To the left, Luther was leaning against the truck’s side; his wrists were still manacled, and a rope looped around them kept him tethered to the truck’s rails. He was having a hard time not checking out Dad’s arsenal, which almost gave Dean something to smile about.

“No, we don’t. You can never know when it’s watching and when it’s not,” Dad replied in a short tone. He dug around some more, then swore beneath his breath. “Damn it. I could’ve sworn I had replacement strings in here.”

“For the crossbow? We’ve got some.” Dean tossed Dad the keys, then wandered up by Sam to poke at the crossbow bolts dipped in corpse-blood that they were going to use. He picked one up and sniffed at the tip: it wasn’t edible, but inhaling it didn’t seem to do anything to him. Apparently that was just him being special, since when he waved it towards Luther, he got a recoil. “Incidentally, if Dad didn’t mention this—you try anything and I will hunt you down to the ends of the earth.”

Luther was unimpressed. He wasn’t even paying attention, having turned to stare anxiously at the surrounding woods. “I already got it from Sam.”

“Well, it’s the kind of thing that bears repeating,” Sam muttered. He finished winding up his crossbow with an angry flick of the wrist and set it aside to reach for Dad’s. He looked pretty pissed at the smack Dean gave him.

Not that Dean cared much; he reached over and locked the safety on the first crossbow. “That thing’s prone to go off at the slightest jolt and you know it. Believe me, getting shot by one of these is a bitch.”

Dad seemed to be having problems finding the strings, which gave Dean the perfect excuse for walking off before Sam started up again. Maybe that was unsympathetic of him, but honestly, it wasn’t like Sam had a monopoly on tense worry. Everything had to go off without a hitch for this to work, and if Sam shot himself, that would definitely qualify as a hitch.

“…brother’s protective of you,” came from Luther’s direction. Low murmur.

“Why’d you say that? And none of the lying this time,” Sam hissed back.

Dean glanced up from the trunk, keeping his head down so he wasn’t noticed. They were talking too low to catch Dad’s ear.

“I wasn’t lying. I don’t give a shit about your father and I’ve got no reason to, but I do have one for keeping you as far from that demon as possible.” It was all in a whisper, even with the better hearing Dean had now, but Luther put some odd inflections on his words. The truck kept Dean from seeing his face as he looked at Sam, but Dean could see Sam’s face—could see him stare hard at something troubling and thus crack a little. “Just let your brother take care of you.”

“There they are,” Dad suddenly said, grabbing for a box.

The conversation by the truck instantly stopped; Dean started so violently he nearly brought down the trunk top when his head banged into it. He winced and bent back over, rubbing at the sore spot.

Dad gave him an odd look. “You all right?” When Dean nodded, he got handed the string. “All right, then. Let’s do this.”

* * *

One hundred yards. They stretched like a gulf between the last dwindling of forest into grassy clearing, where Sam and Dean crouched, and the remains of the barn, where their father stood with his side to them. Luther was kneeling on the ground beside him, head slightly tilted to get as far from the machete edge touching his neck as he could.

A woman was—scratch that; a whiff of breeze told Dean _vampire_ \--sauntering across the field towards the pair, dangling a long-barreled handgun from her hand. The full moon was shining brightly over the place, letting everyone know she was brunette and, Dean grudgingly admitted, very nice-looking for a monster. Apparently Luther did have good taste in girls.

“That her?” Sam softly called out.

Still too loud for Dean’s taste, though he bit down on telling Sam that. He lifted himself just enough for Sam to see him and nodded.

The vampire—vampiress? whatever—stopped about six feet away. She smiled widely enough for Dean to be able to see the flash of her teeth and she made a lot of theatrical gesturing, but her eyes kept darting to Luther. However convincing she’d been on the phone, she’d since lost it. Dean slowly pushed forward and got ready to run; the crossbows wouldn’t cover the distance, so Sam would stall with the rifle till Dean could run up.

Dad said something and Dean strained his hearing as far as it’d go, but the wind carried the words away. But he did hear Sam hiccup.

Dean glanced over, then looked again, because that was _not_ Sam slowly rising into plain sight without even his rifle leveled at anything. He opened his mouth to yell just as he got around to seeing how wide and horrified Sam’s eyes were; Dean immediately whipped around.

But it all seemed to be going to plan in the field: Kate was just getting up from putting down the pistol, while Dad was wrapping the extra rope around his hand, getting ready to drag up Luther. Kate and Luther were staring hard at each other, so hard that Dean saw the _pull_ between them a split second before Luther suddenly twisted, falling to one side and taking Dad nearly down to the ground with him.

“Dad!” Dean was up and running, snapping off the crossbow’s safety as he went. No time to worry about that now, because while Dad had managed to catch himself and stay up right, he was too slow.

That vampire bitch was diving for the pistol again. It was still too long of a shot, but Dean took it anyway, and somehow got the bolt to just graze Kate’s shoulder. Luther shouted about dead blood and she threw herself down, the pistol flying out from her hand towards the barn. Her head came up so Dean could see the fury in her eyes.

Then she was busy getting hauled away by Luther, who really hadn’t been lying when he said he’d get the hell out first and kill later, and Dean was struggling to reload even as he kept running so they broke eye-contact. He was close enough to hear the stuttering inhale Luther took on seeing him come up—Dean skidded, then dropped to his knee and aimed.

“Dad!” screamed someone else—Sam.

Dean reflexively glanced around. Then a gunshot cracked the air and he snapped to face the direction from which it’d come.

Another man had appeared—from the barn; there was nowhere else he could’ve hidden—and he had the pistol in his hand and he was aiming it straight at Dad, who’d dropped the machete but had his gun only half-drawn. Dad was facing him, blocking Dean’s view, and wasn’t moving.

“Bastard!” Kate furiously hissed. She took a step towards the stranger, but Luther grabbed her waist and dragged her back; he looked terrified. But his footing wasn’t sound and he went down.

He took Kate down as well, but not before the strange man had pivoted and shot her in the shoulder. That put his face where Dean could see it, and a stirring in the air brought his scent to Dean: sharp, acrid, painful to inhale.

Kate screamed and something seemed to wriggle violently beneath the sleeve of her injured arm. She staggered, then stumbled back over Luther so he couldn’t get up right away. Hideous black tendrils suddenly splayed over the skin of her neck, and she clawed and scratched at them, but they only pulsed, getting stronger as she seemed to weaken.

“So both gun and bullets are necessary,” the man said. He was surprised, but surprised the way a robot might be programmed to be. “You aren’t leaving till you tell me where.”

He seemed to be talking to Luther, having totally forgotten everyone else. Bad move—Dad shot him only a fraction of a section before Dean did. The bullet took him in the forehead, while the bolt ripped through his left pectoral. The twin impacts rocked him back a few steps.

Then he straightened up, and suddenly a whirl of steel was flying at Dean: the machete.

Dean shoved up the crossbow, barely parrying. He heard the _chunk_ of the blade getting stuck halfway or more in the handle and let go of the crossbow to drop and roll. The wrong goddamn way, he realized when Dad shouted and Dad sounded farther and here was his foot getting stuck in some gopher hole. He looked up to see nothing but silver, then frantically twisted till his foot came loose barely in time; the wind of the machete flying by scorched the side of his neck. Fucking demon—figured they’d be telekinetics, too.

Something in his ankle snapped _hard_ , and maybe vampires were stronger and healed faster, but the pain sure as hell didn’t ease up. Hissing, Dean forced himself over again, towards the sound of shooting, and came upright just as the blade came around again.

He ducked, and it flew on to neatly cleave off Kate’s head just as Luther had gotten a good enough hold on her knees to keep him from blindly stumbling around anymore. The blood splattered before Dean got more than a glimpse of Luther’s face, but what he did see was ferociously and terribly grief-stricken.

Then he was rolling over, only realizing the machete was flying the same way when it was too late to scramble out of its path. Dean went stiff—

\--watched it sweep over him and move on…towards Dad, who was shooting at it and whose gun had just clicked on empty. “Da-”

“Dad!” Sam screamed again, and everything blew over in a scorching power-wind.

It whipped Dean around to the side, and when he struggled against it, the roaring air slammed him face-first into the ground. He forced his head up out of sheer cussedness, then watched as a wave of fire took the barn broadside, sweeping the stranger back into it. A second later, the whole thing went up in one huge blue flame.

Fire. Oh, God. Words just died in Dean’s throat, where everything now tasted like ashes.

_No_. “Sam? _Sam_!”

And a long, long time later, after it seemed like Dean’s nerves were finally going to break for good: “…Dean.”

“Sam. Sam, it’s okay. It’s okay. We’re okay. You just got the ones that needed it.” Dean painfully turned himself over to see Sam—that was his goddamned brother in those eyes—walking unsteadily over the field. 

A nearby sound startled Dean and he turned back just as a hand grabbed his arm and swung it up over a broad pair of shoulders. Dad pressed something hard with a narrow long warm part—the pistol—into Dean’s hand, then heaved him onto his feet. “It’s not dead. We’ve got to go. Can you walk?”

“Yes, sir,” Dean muttered.

“We’ve got to go,” Dad repeated more loudly. To Sam, who jerked to attention and stared wildly at them before finally nodding. He’d been looking past them, towards the barn.

Dean glanced over his shoulder. There was no barn now, and no ruins—nothing but a huge charred patch of ground. And…and there was no Kate’s head or body, or Luther.

“Come on.” Dad started walking Dean forward.

A second later, Sam came up and took Dean’s other side. They hurried away as quickly as they could, none of them saying a single word.


	7. Epilogue: The Drifter

“If I didn’t need to feed, we could’ve been in Iowa already,” Dean fretted. He walked around the room again, angrily beating back any drowsy feeling he got. For Christ’s sake, it was still two hours till noon. “I could’ve just slept in the back and we could—”

John let out a tiny sigh and put down the pistol, which he’d been studying for the millionth time in the past few days. “Dean, sit down and sleep if you need it. This demon’s the biggest son of a bitch out there, and going in tired and weak isn’t going to help any.”

“At least we have the pistol. Figuring out the bullet composition shouldn’t take too long—there are only so many things that are effective against demons,” Sam patiently echoed, as if that made it even remotely true. Also for the millionth time. He even synced his typing to it.

“Then maybe Sam should take a break from researching, too. Wading through all that black magic isn’t good for him—I thought that was clear back—” Someone knocked at the door, making Dean lose his train of thought.

He wasn’t sure whether it was accidental, or whether it’d been deliberate on his part. They’d already had this fight a few times, and every time Dean just wound up feeling sick at how guilty Sam got about the reminder; he could already see that look start on Sam’s face. But Sam still refused to believe that he was totally innocent of Mom’s and Jessica’s deaths, no matter how many times Dad pointed out the fires had started from the women and not from him. So Dean would still have to bring it up.

Nevertheless he was happy to have the interruption this time—maybe he’d manage to collect his thoughts into a good enough argument in the meantime—and was over to the door before either Sam or Dad could get up. He yanked it open, ready to rip a new asshole in whoever was standing outside.

Instead, he ended up staring. It took him a good ten seconds to make sense of what he was seeing.

Dark blue jeans, plain dark green shirt beneath a black buttondown shirt, unbuttoned, shapeless thigh-length coat of nondescript brown. Hair slicked back just enough to get it out of the eyes: the whole effect was to make Luther look like one of a thousand other joes walking around town. Except for his skin, which was chalk-white where it wasn’t reddening with a rash. He hadn’t been eating much, and…he smelled faintly of stale sex, but had none of the bile-and-shit stink that inevitably accompanied death. If Dean had to guess, he’d say Luther had been charming ladies at a certain point in their month instead of killing.

Dean twisted his hand so the comforting weight of his hunting knife’s handle fell into his cupped palm. “Finally decided to leave the nineties? And you’re even in sunshine.”

“I thought the sheer shock would keep you from killing me right away. I need to give you something.” Luther slowly lifted his hand to show Dean a small leather pouch. Then he handed it over.

Taking it was a little awkward since Dean didn’t want to let go of the knife and had to do it with his left hand. He rolled it around: it was filled with little hard oblong shapes. Using his thumb, he worked the drawstring open and cautiously peeked inside, keeping one eye on Luther.

Bullets.

“The right bullets. I got back earlier than I said. I really couldn’t remember where I’d seen the revolver before, but I’ve seen guns kill vampires and I wasn’t going to leave it lying around loaded till I’d remembered why it made me so uneasy,” Luther said. He talked softly and slowly and didn’t have a trace of smugness in his voice.

Not that it made Dean any more well-disposed towards the son of a bitch. “So that’s why they set you up in that circle, and why they came back. It wasn’t for Sam—it was because they wanted to know where you’d hid these. You goddamn lying piece of shit. I should—”

“—it might’ve been for me, but they wouldn’t have said no to picking up your brother into the bargain.” Still no arrogance, but Luther hadn’t lost his backbone. He had lost something—some dimension of himself, and it was oddly sad to see it. He looked…almost dead.

Dean glanced behind Luther, but didn’t see any new cars in the parking lot. The unasked-for sympathy pangs made him even more irritated, but he couldn’t work up the rage to outright kill the bastard. “Took you a while to make up your mind, huh.”

In the room behind Dean, everything had gone quiet as soon as he’d started talking to Luther, but now a chair creaked. Dad, he thought. Luther either didn’t hear or didn’t care—probably the second one. “I gave what was left of Kate a decent burial. And tracking you on whatever blood I can scrounge without leaving bodies isn’t exactly easy.”

“Was that so you didn’t leave a trail we or the demon would notice, or because you were planning on using that to suck up to us?” Dean asked, leaning back. He drew the top of the bag shut, held it up for a second, then tossed it over his shoulder. He didn’t hear it hit the ground. “What would you say if I let you in?”

“Where you could kill me in peace?” A hint of black humor tinged Luther’s voice. It disappeared after he took his next breath. “Ask you where you’ve tracked the demon to.”

“Why?” Dad said. Even though Dean had heard the other man come up, it was so abrupt that it startled him.

Luther shrugged nonchalantly, but his face was too serious for the gesture to mean anything. He flicked his eyes to Dad and held his gaze. “It’s responsible for too many graves in my life. And I’ve seen what it can do—with it, you can either run till you collapse or you stay and can try as hard as you can to kill it. I don’t have a reason for running anymore.”

He and Dad matched stares for a long time. Long enough for Dean to step completely out of the way and put his knife back in his sheath, since it was obvious this wasn’t going to be his call. Not that he liked that, but…hell, the looks were too intense even for him.

“You said you knew how it works through people, and how your friend tried to kill it last time—with that Colt. And something of how the bullets and pistol were made,” John finally said. He glanced briefly to the side, pursing his lips, then returned his gaze to Luther. “You’ll put up with whatever I think is necessary to make sure you don’t hurt my sons. You don’t kill any other people either, and you understand this: I’ll make your end slow if you hurt my family.”

“Perfectly,” Luther replied.

After another long look, Dad stepped away. Dean wasn’t satisfied with that and didn’t move. “And you’ve got a reason for staying?”

“My reason for staying—” Luther started. His teeth clicked as he shut his mouth and glanced past Dean.

“What the…what are you doing here?” Sam pushed in beside Dean to stare at Luther. Then he shook his head and withdrew. “Oh, my God. I can’t believe this. Dad-- _Dad_ \--”

That tone meant Dean was shortly going to be shoving himself between his brother and his father, which really made him feel less than friendly towards Luther. He pushed up just as Luther was taking a step forward, then tipped his head so he could whisper into Luther’s ear. “Look, I know all that power smells good. I know if you get a taste, you’re going to want it so bad it hurts. But don’t even think about it. Jesus—vampires have short grieving times, don’t they?”

Luther abruptly pushed forward so his teeth grazed Dean’s ear with every word. His hand thumped up hard against Dean’s chest, but dropped before anything happened to call Sam and Dad back. “Don’t. Talk about Kate. And yeah, it does. It _does_ hurt you, doesn’t it? But I wouldn’t. I would kill the thing that’d be left if anyone ever did turn your brother into a vampire, though.”

His shoulder nudged hard at Dean’s, the force just a shade too small to qualify as a shove. And after a second, Dean gave and let Luther in. He didn’t feel good about it, but then again, these days the things he felt good about were the evil ones and the things he felt rotten about were the good ones. He just hoped Dad knew what he was doing.

He just hoped they could kill the goddamn thing once and for all, and be done with this edge-walking.


End file.
